Remembering Achilles
by IlliadFan
Summary: "There's an eagle perched on my windowsill. It's proud and untamed, dangerous and fascinating. I would like to see it soar high in the sky. I would like to soar with it. Was it you who sent it?" Briseis goes through her memories of her own life and of Achilles. Based on the Iliad and Ancient Greek and Roman myths.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

There is an eagle perched on my windowsill. It's totally unheard of. No eagle has ever been sighted in this isle, a tiny square of land too flat and unfit for a majestically highflying bird of prey.

It's staring at me with fierce amber eyes, motionless. As if it's waiting. For me?

I gaze back at it. Strangely enough, I'm not scared. Somehow, there seems to be something familiar in this unexpected winged visitor.

It reminds me of you. It's proud and untamed, it gives off a combined sense of danger and fascination. But for some reason, I don't feel threatened by it, just as once upon a time I didn't feel threatened by you. Something deep in my bones tells me it is here for me, but it means me no harm.

There's a compelling wild beauty about it. I would like to see it soar high in the sky. I would like to soar with it.

Was it sent by you? Some folks believe birds can be sent to collect the souls that are ready to leave the world of the living, and if indeed you would send a bird to carry my soul, this magnificent creature would be the kind of messenger you'd choose.

Yes, I think it comes at your bidding. Or maybe I just want to think so, but that is not important. One thing your story definitely taught me is that no-one can escape their fate and that when our time comes, be it morning, evening or high-noon, we're left only with the choice of whether we want to meet our end standing tall or crawling like cowards.

I'll face mine with my head held high. Whatever the world may think of me, I am proud of myself. Let's say I learned from the best…


	2. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

I had been married for three years and was still childless. My family was becoming seriously frantic. My mother kept recommending me herbs, potions, and prayers. Before death took him by surprise, my father kept telling me to do whatever it took to remain in Mynes' favour and insisted I should go to one temple or another to offer sacrifices and beg for my fruitfulness. On the few occasions when I met my brothers in Mynes' great hall, all they ever seemed to ask me was whether I was finally about to do my duty to my husband and provide him with a son.

Frantic they were and, if truth be told, they had reason to be. Three years was way too long for a married woman to remain without so much as a sign of pregnancy. My marriage to our king, Mynes, had been a great – albeit well deserved – honour to our family and my childlessness was putting all that in jeopardy. My second brother even went so far as suggesting I offer Mynes one of my handmaids for her to give him the necessary son in my stead. But that would be tantamount to proclaiming my barrenness to the world and which woman is ready to declare herself barren at eighteen?

I admit I was worried as well, but not in as much of a panic as them. After all, I was still rather young and there was justifiable hope that I would still produce a string of strong and healthy children. Besides, what I knew and my family did not – I wasn't so stupid as to tell them – was that Mynes' interest in me had waned considerably after the first year of our marriage. He still visited me regularly, about once every six days, but it seemed to be more out of a sense of duty than a sign of any real desire or passion. At first, he shared my bed every night, but maybe back then I had been too young to get pregnant, even though my body showed all the signs of female maturity, and now he had begun to lose interest. Perhaps precisely because he thought me barren…

Or perhaps because my own lack of interest smothered his. The fact was that I didn't really mind Mynes' increasing estrangement very much. If it weren't for the child problem, I would actually be relieved if his visits became even scarcer. Now, you've always been adamant that people speak the truth – "No lies, anything but lies", you insisted – so I will tell it like it was: I didn't love or want Mynes; he was the husband my parents had chosen for me, not one I had picked for myself. But I didn't hate him either, nor did I resent him. I was faithful to him and loyal to his interests. In a way, I had adjusted to his being part of my life and I was grateful that he hadn't yet sent me back to my parents because of my fruitlessness. Also, his position as king, even if only of a small city and subject to the High King Priam of Troy, gave me a certain social standing and a sense of security which I treasured.

So I did the herbs and the potions, the prayers and the sacrifices, and I tried my best to be as pleasing to my husband as I possibly could – which clearly wasn't working very well, probably because I was never very good at pretending – but I drew the line on the handmaid's solution. I might still consider it, but only as a last resort and not quite yet.

I was precisely heading off to pray at Hera's altar when the Achaens arrived at our walls. No, not the Achaens: the Myrmidons, with you at their head. It was barely dawn and there had been no sign whatsoever that there would be a raid coming in. The alarm was given, the men jumped out of bed to race for their armour and weapons, the women, children and old folks ran around in mindless panic before finally taking refuge in the palace or the temples.

By sunset it was over. The walls had been breached easily enough, but then our men put up a surprisingly good battle, forcing the enemy to fight for every inch of our streets. Heroic as they were, your army was like an incontrollable flood and, step by step, they broke the resistance and erupted into the citadel.

I didn't see Mynes fight you. I know only what I've been told: it was a fierce duel, fought with honour on both sides. Mynes didn't surrender, not even after you had him cornered and called out for him to yield, and you killed him in one single swift blow.

Lyrnessus had fallen and with it my husband and my three brothers, along with an indeterminate number of other warriors. The old, the women and the children were flushed out of their hiding places and assembled in the main square as prisoners.

Slaves. That's what we had all become.

There was a lot of screaming and calling, crying and wailing. People were desperately looking for their loved ones, clinging with all their might to the ones they found. As for me, I had no-one left to find. I already knew my husband and all my family were dead, except for my mother, and she was sitting next to me on the ground, staring vacantly in front of her. She hadn't spoken one single word since learning of the death of all her three sons.

Your men were positioned all around the square, watching us with stern faces, but they didn't interfere with the prisoners or try to keep us from speaking and searching for one another. They looked fearsome, with their long hair and sturdy helmets, their skin and armours covered in dirt and blood. But they were also surprisingly disciplined, standing silent and watchful, still holding their shields up on the left arm, spears at the ready on the right hand.

We could hear shouts and all kinds of noises at the distance, and we realized the rest of your army was combing through the city for anything that could be deemed valuable or useful.

I felt bile rise to my throat. Everything I had ever known was being destroyed, everything any of us had ever owned was being taken. I had never truly hated in my life, but I did now. I hated each and every one of the arrogant enemy warriors standing around the square, each and every one of the pillaging men spread throughout our city. And above all, I hated the foreign leader who had brought these foes into our lives.

I had heard of you before, of course. Everyone had. Achilles, son of Peleus, the best of the Achaen warriors. Undefeated in all terrains he had ever done battle in. Swift, strong, ruthless. Idolized by his men, who would follow him to Hades and back. Idolized, some said, even by the men of the other Achaen kings, who trusted him more as a leader on the battlefield than they trusted their own commanders. The legends around you spread so wildly people said that your mother was a nymph and that you could not be killed.

Night was falling when you arrived at the square, surrounded by the other Myrmidon leaders. You stopped on the top of the palace stairs and rose your spear to salute your men, who responded with a deafening ovation.

You looked younger than I expected. Around twenty-one, twenty-two? At any rate, much too young for someone who had built such a reputation. You had taken off your helmet and your long hair fell in a golden mane all the way down to your shoulders. You were nearly one head taller than the men around you, broad-shouldered and as covered in blood and dirt as any of your soldiers.

When they fell silent, you made a short speech in your own dialect, of which I couldn't decipher one single word. But it was patent enough that you were commending them for their bravery and celebrating victory. Your words were greeted with several bouts of applause.

Then you shifted into the Cretan language that was commonly understood by most people in our area of the Mediterranean to address the prisoners. You stated we would be safe as long as we caused no trouble and followed the orders your men would be relaying to us, that we would be brought to the palace yards for shelter and given food and water for the night, and that next morning we'd be allowed to search for our dead and to bury them with full honours. You finished off with: "All the fallen died like true heroes and deserve proper funeral rites and the respect of us all."

A lot of murmuring broke out among the prisoners. Although disposing of the dead after a battle was common enough among civilized peoples, no-one was expecting the mercy of being given a chance to mourn our dead and provide them with an honourable burial. Nor were we expecting to be promised any kind of safety: from what we could tell, all the survivors had been brought to the square. There had been no rapes and no massacre of male children. That was truly odd: at least Mynes' surviving male relatives, including his nephews and his bastard son, should normally have been killed by now to avoid the danger of future vendettas against you. And even if it would be reasonable for your men to spare the higher-born female captives, preserving them for later distribution among their own leaders, a merciless attack on the lower scale, less valuable women would be pretty much par for the course under the circumstances.

But so far nothing of the kind had happened. I suppose we should be grateful for the fact that you seemed to save your ruthlessness to the battlefield and chose mercy when the fighting was over, but I was beyond feeling anything but fear and hatred.

One of your lieutenants stepped forward, shouted for the prisoners to stand up and form in lines and led us to the palace yards where, true to your word, we were all given bread, water and wood for fires to keep us warm. We huddled together, fearful and wary of the foreign warriors positioned at every entrance, but the hours dragged on uneventfully, and eventually most of us succumbed to the extreme fatigue and fell asleep.


	3. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

A long line of pyres had been built and was ready to burn. Mynes' was at the centre, on a slightly higher ground than the rest. The Myrmidons, with their bronze armours now clean and shining in the morning sun, were standing at attention. You stood in your war chariot, straight backed and looking solemn.

I should be standing before Mynes' pyre, mourning him as his widow, but I had decided to stay next to my mother in front of my brothers' pyres. I positioned myself so that I would have my back to the enemy soldiers to whom we owed our misery and that seemingly endless line of dead bodies. Above all, I didn't want to see you. My hatred had crystallized around you and it was deep and raging.

With my back turned and my attention focused on my still non-speaking mother, I didn't notice you climbing down from your chariot and walking up to me. I started when I heard a voice speaking Cretan right by my side:

"You're the king's widow, aren't you? I am going to light his pyre. I assume you want to be present for the rite?"

I swear to mighty Olympus that there was a glint of irony in your eyes, as if you were seeing right through my feelings, or lack thereof, concerning my husband. Hatred took over me to the point that I forgot to be afraid.

"You killed him. What do you care if his widow is paying him homage or not?"

You became instantly serious. "It's precisely because I was there that I know he died a hero and deserved my respect. I should think he would also deserve the respect of his people and his kin."

There was really no arguing that and I found myself following you dutifully to Mynes' pyre. You took a goblet of wine, made a ritual libation to the gods, then picked up a torch and lit the bottom of the tall pile of wood. Once the fire caught, you stepped back, called out "Your men will follow you in the afterlife", and dropped your arm in an abrupt signal. All the other pyres were then lit, more or less simultaneously, and the Myrmidons saluted.

It was a rather impressive homage to our fallen warriors, one I had never expected. I was just as surprised when I suddenly noticed that Mynes' body still had his armour on. The armour of the defeated were legitimate spoils of war for the winners, so by right it should have been taken off his corpse and now belong to you. I couldn't help myself:

"Why didn't you take his armour?"

You looked down at me. "Like I said, he earned my respect. He deserves to be sent off as a warrior, not deprived of his armour and weapons." Then you focused back on the pyre, your expression solemn and distant.

I stood next to you, watching my husband's body burn. The whole thing seemed eerily unreal. Your presence bothered me. Your attitude towards Mynes made me feel uncomfortable. I felt criticized, as if I wasn't regretting my husband's passing the way I should. Again, I lost control of my tongue:

"Of course I regret him. Of course I wish he was still alive, I wish our city was still whole, I wish my brothers hadn't perished, I wish we were all still free. Of course I am aching. I am aching too much for too many reasons to be able to mourn any one thing or any one person more than the rest." I paused, furious at myself. What the hell had possessed me to make me feel the need to justify my actions before an enemy? I added, lacing my voice with as much venom as I possibly could: "I wish it was you burning in there. You and your men, burning in all those pyres."

You held my angry gaze for a moment, then nodded curtly: "I believe that. But don't worry: I too lost men yesterday and I never know which will be the day when my body will lay among the dead, but I do know that day will come eventually. However, if your people had won yesterday's battle, I doubt our bodies would be burning in pyres now. You'd probably just leave us all to the dogs."

We fell silent again, contemplating the flames, both angry and tense. After a while, you said in a tone heavy with sarcasm:

"I wasn't judging you, you know. I was merely assuming that if you had loved your husband, his loss would stand out above any other losses you may have suffered."

I bit my lips to avoid spilling another unbidden torrent of angry words. But the temptation to reply proved too strong. I tried to emulate your sarcastic tone:

"Ah, so you're an expert in conjugal feelings, are you?"

"Are you trying to find out whether I'm married?"

My jaw dropped. I looked up, indignantly blurting out that you couldn't be serious. You weren't. The pleased-with-yourself smirk on your lips showed quite clearly that you were making fun of me. I clenched my fists.

"Now there's a nice display of respect for my fallen heroic husband!", I hissed savagely.

I had the pleasure to watch the smirk disappear to be slowly replaced by an unexpected guilty look. Without another word, you picked up the goblet of wine and started to sprinkle the fire. The wood crackled, the flames rose higher. We both went back to watching in silence.

I wanted to pray, but I didn't know who to or what for. Hades would have the souls of the fallen. Perhaps their bravery had earned them the right to be sent to the Elysian Fields. I honestly wished them that, but that would be decided based on their actions in battle, not on any prayers I might say now.

For the living… I should pray for the living. But to whom? Which deity cares for slaves? Because that's what we would surely become from now on. And then what would happen to us? Would we be sold into foreign lands? Made to work on the fields? The women raped and discarded, turned into toys for soldiers? How about the children and the old? What use could their new masters have for them? Would they end up killed to save valuable resources? And the men in fighting age, the warriors who had been taken alive? What would be done to them? Would they be sacrificed in the pyres of your own dead? Would they be killed? Maimed, to make sure they'd never pose a threat to the Achaen army again? Put to work in mines or the galleys? Theirs would certainly be the worst fate of all.

All things considered, maybe it had been for the best that none of my brothers had survived.

Yes, I should be praying with all my heart for the living, but I knew of no god I could pray to. There was no god of slaves. So I just stared at Mynes' burning pyre, feeling my very life turn to cinders right along with the body of the man I had failed to love.

A scream about five pyres down woke me up from my reverie. Before I had even had time to turn my head in the direction of the commotion, you were already darting past and racing straight toward the flames. Your lieutenant, the same one who had supervised the distribution of bread and water to the captives the previous night, was running right behind you.

I stood frozen, looking on in utter powerlessness. There was a strange black knot of terror forming in my chest, but my brain refused to make sense of it.

You withdrew, pulling a woman from the raging fire. You unceremoniously tore a cloak from the shoulders of a middle-aged man standing nearby and started to beat the flames off the woman's clothes. Your lieutenant used his own cloak to help you.

The black knot of terror was growing steadily, choking me, filling my chest to the point where there was no longer room for air.

Five pyres down. To my left, which is to say to Mynes' right. A place of honour. Fit for Mynes' brothers-in-law. The fifth pyre. My younger brother's. Where my mother had been standing. She was the woman who had walked into the burning pyre of her dead son and who now had her clothes on fire.

I started running and screaming, tears pouring from my eyes. Your lieutenant's arms closed around me, holding me back.

"It's alright, she's alright, Achilles has got her."

I shook my head at him, hating you as only someone who has lost everything can hate:

"Achilles killed her. He killed us all."


	4. Chapter Three

**Chrissykat** – Thanks for your review. Hope you like my take on the Achilles-Briseis story, even though I'm not really following the movie. I originally pondered posting this on the Books-Iliad category, but I guess I'm getting tired of hardly ever having anyone around to read things.

**The First Blue **– No I never read Daughter of Troy. After seeing your review I got curious and looked it up, so now I've got an idea what it's about. I realized it's a kind of memoir by Briseis, told in the first person. Were those the similar aspects you had in mind? I'm really curious about it now. Anyway, thanks for your review and I hope you like this chapter as well.

CHAPTER THREE

Many years later, long after you were gone, I heard a legend according to which your spear could heal the wounds it inflicted. I don't know that to be true, but perhaps the legend has arisen from stories like my mother's: you were as capable of killing as of saving a life, and you used the exact same set of skills and bravery to do both.

But I wasn't in a position to appreciate that back then.

As it turned out, your lieutenant was right: your swift intervention had prevented the worst, and although my mother had sustained burns to her arms and legs, they weren't too deep and she would heal. The lieutenant – who introduced himself as Patroclus, son of Menoetius – helped me carry her to my old room in the palace and brought me a jar of ointment, bandages and instructions on how to clean the wounds and apply the medicine.

The next few days went by in a blur. I rarely ever left my room, busy taking care of my mother. Besides, what reason could I possibly have to go outside and mingle with the enemy?

My self-imposed isolation was broken only by one of my former handmaids, who was sent to help me – by you? by Patroclus? I never really knew for sure – and by Patroclus himself, who came by every day to inquire after my mother's health and to ask whether I needed more medicine, bandages or some herbs for the pain. He always said he came at your bidding and relayed wishes of speedy recovery from you, but at the time I didn't believe him.

Still, I slowly grew to enjoy his visits. He was kind and polite and, to my surprise, seemed willing to answer at least part of my questions. Apparently, Lyrnessus had been the fourth and last target in a series of raids of what he called "a foraging expedition". You had based your strategy on speed, taking each city with a surprise attack and moving on to the next one before news of the presence of your army in the area could spread. I thought bitterly to myself that the strategy had clearly worked: no-one in Lyrnessus had received even a shred of a hint that there were enemy forces approaching.

As to what we could expect now, he explained that an oath of allegiance to Agamemnon, King of Mycenae, was being demanded from all the nobles, priests and heads of family. In return for the solemn swearing of that oath, most of the population would be spared and only a part of it would be taken captive.

"Obviously, the lucky ones who get to remain in their homes will be obliged to pay some kind of heavy tribute to Mycenae", I commented dryly, "despite the fact that after your 'foraging' they will be left with next to nothing to live on."

"That will be up to the son of Atreus", he replied. "When we're ready to go, Achilles will leave a garrison to hold the city until Agamemnon sends his own men to relieve them."

As much as I did pity the upcoming struggle for survival of my impoverished countrymen, I was more concerned with the fate of the ones who would be taken as slaves.

"What about the captives? Who will you be taking?"

He hesitated. "The usual. Women, some key aristocrats and priests to serve as hostages and ensure that the oath isn't broken, some craftsmen specialized in skills we need. All the warriors and members of the royal family, of course. And everyone whose head of family refuses to take the oath."

I had known from the start that, being the widow of the former king, I would be part of the enslaved captives. There was no way on earth I would ever be allowed to stay in Lyrnessus as a free woman. But Patroclus' last piece of information was extremely worrying: my father had passed away one year before and all his male successors had died in the battle.

"What about the families who no longer have a patriarch to take the oath of allegiance for them?", I asked.

He furrowed his brow:

"I'm not sure. That will be Achilles' call. Anyway, I suppose they'll fall into the category of the ones who didn't pledge fidelity and will be taken captive. At least in the case of the aristocrats."

That meant that my mother would be taken. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that she wouldn't survive captivity after everything that she had already gone through.

"Don't cry", Patroclus said, suddenly ill at ease. "It couldn't have come as a surprise to you that… I promise I'll do what I can to make things as easy as possible for you."

I shook my head. "I'm not crying for myself. It's just…"

"It's just what?", he insisted when I didn't finish my sentence.

I nodded vaguely in my mother's direction.

"Your mother? But she's doing much better, isn't she?"

"Of her wounds, yes. But her spirit is broken. She still hardly ever speaks. If she's taken captive…"

"I don't think Achilles is planning on taking her."

"My father and brothers are dead. We're one of the families without a patriarch to take the oath."

"Oh… Aren't there any male relatives from her birth family?"

"Not here. I mean, she still has a brother, I think, but he lives in Lesbos. That's where she came from."

"A brother in Lesbos? I'll talk to Achilles, see what he can do."

"Achilles?" I scoffed.

"Yes, Achilles," Patroclus repeated sternly.

"Why would Achilles do anything to help any of the very people he's enslaved?"

Patroclus suddenly became very formal:

"The _son of Peleus_ always acts within the rules of honour. He takes no pleasure in causing unnecessary pain to the weak."

I scoffed again:

"Maybe so, but he's sure not to do anything to help me. He made it quite clear in my husband's funeral that he didn't approve of me. Not that I'm interested in his approval, mind you…"

I cut myself short and bit my tongue. I really needed to learn to control it if I didn't want to pay dearly for my rashness. It would be indescribably stupid to alienate Patroclus precisely when I needed him most.

"I'm sorry. I know he's your king and you're loyal to him. But… Well, I've expressed hatred for him to his face and in no uncertain terms, so I'm pretty sure that didn't exactly earn me a very high place in his good graces."

"You misunderstand Achilles. He may not be the easiest and most amenable man on earth, but he's not petty. Not by any means. At any rate, that's beside the point now. You're asking for help for your mother, not for yourself. I'll talk to him."

Patroclus' tone remained cold. It was obviously not wise to say anything against you in front of him. I just hoped that wouldn't prevent him from arguing my mother's case before you.

Not that I was very hopeful. The fact of the matter was that my mother's fate now depended on the good will of a man I hated and who, I was sure, despised me. Regardless of whatever Patroclus might say, it was highly unlikely that you would even take the time of day to worry about the problems of two lowly women slaves.

Well, I would know soon enough.

The rest of the day went by quietly. My handmaid told me there were rumours that you were preparing to return to the Achaen's camp at Troy in two days. I felt my heart constrict. The day of departure would signal the severing of every link that still tied me to my old life.

By late afternoon there was a knock on my door. My handmaid opened it and, to my utter surprise, it was you standing in the doorway: towering, golden – and frowning.

You walked in, bowed your head just the tiniest of fractions by way of greeting and cut to the chase:

"Patroclus told me about your mother's situation. I sent a messenger to your uncle in Lesbos to come and collect her. I know your uncle, I met him when I took Lesbos, so I specified a ransom I know he can afford without trouble. I also gave instructions to my captain Eudorus, who will be in charge of the city when we leave, to hand her over to him."

"A ransom?", I asked, flabbergasted.

"Of course. I must report back to my allies concerning the outcome of the expedition. I won't have them thinking I've taken anything for myself unduly. Everything must be accounted for. Besides… it would be humiliating for your mother if we just cast her away as though she had no worth."

That was a different perspective on things. After a long silence, I managed two words that scorched my throat:

"Thank you."

You nodded brusquely.

"We'll be leaving the day after tomorrow, at dawn. You have tomorrow to pack your things and say goodbye to your mother. She can stay to care for her." You gestured at my handmaid and, with another minimal nod, turned on your heel and left.


	5. Chapter Four

Thanks to everyone who read, favorited and is following this story.

**The First Blue **–Thank you for your review. Your comments on my grammar meant quite a lot to me, because I'm not an English native speaker. So… yeah, that felt really great. Hope you keep enjoying the story.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Greek camp seemed to stretch forever in either direction: rows upon rows of ships pulled to dry land to prevent them from rotting in the water, followed by rows upon rows of wooden huts with thatched roofs. It was as big as a city, encompassing the whole length of the cape that marked the western limit of the bay of Troy, and the rows of ships and huts formed streets, just like in a city, except that these were straighter and connected to one another at almost perfect right angles. More than a camp, it was a city – a city of warriors. Troy was visible at the distance, its high walls now fading in the twilight.

The Achaean kings and nobles had gathered in the space reserved for that purpose at the exact centre of the camp. There was a slope at the back that allowed the common soldiers to watch the proceedings.

I was at the bottom of the slope with the other captives. We'd been grouped by gender and social status, and now we were waiting to be chosen by one or the other of the foreign kings.

I felt every muscle in my body shaking in fear, tears burning the back of my eyes. But I refused to let it show. My head was held resolutely high, my eyes remained furiously dry. I would not give our conquerors the pleasure of seeing me reduced to a trembling, sobbing wreck. At least for as long as I could avoid it.

A man, who in the meantime I identified as King Agamemnon of Mycenae, had finished a speech and was now taking his pick from the spoils. While he spoke, I realised that although there were tribal dialects like the one you had used when addressing your men, the Achaeans had a common language that was also spoken in Lesbos and that my mother had tried to teach me when I was a child. It had been years since I last spoke it, but I could still make out enough words to get the gist of what was being said.

After taking a good look at the huge piles of gold, silver and bronze looted from the cities during your 'foraging expedition', Agamemnon made a beeline to the place where the youngest and prettiest women had been assembled and started asking who each of the captives was and where she came from. He asked about a couple of sweet looking and tearful young girls, then his eyes rested on me.

Up to then, Agamemnon's questions had been answered by the head scribe, who seemed to be checking an inventory. But this time it was you who answered from the place where you were sitting:

"That's the daughter of Briseus, widow to Mynes of Lyrnessus." Your voice was clipped and you stressed the word 'widow'. Everybody looked in your direction, including me.

You reminded me of a wild stallion about to trample whoever might try to put reins on him. You were tense, muscles rippling beneath the skin, rage in your eyes. It didn't take a genius to understand what you were thinking: you were the one who had fought and toiled and put your life on the line, but another was reaping the fruits. Back in Lyrnessus, you had mentioned reporting back to your allies and you didn't seem to mind doing it. But the concept of 'allies' rests on a foundation of implicit equality and what was happening here was anything but a sharing among equals. It was a king exerting privileged rights above everybody else and you, for one, obviously didn't agree with it.

Apparently, you thought that having conquered in the name of Agamemnon and having demanded a pledge of fidelity to him and not to yourself should be more than enough to satisfy the Mycenaean king's lust for power. The tribute he would undoubtedly collect from the conquered cities should meet whatever needs of wealth he might have. The direct product of the fighting should not also be object of a lion's share for Mycenae. Or, at least, that was clearly your view on the matter.

Anyway, at the word 'widow' Agamemnon seemed to lose interest in me and went on to check the other women. When he finished choosing, the group of captive females wasn't quite so large as in the beginning, and the piles of precious objects weren't quite so tall anymore.

The Mycenaean said a few more words and handed the speaker's staff to a man he announced as 'wise Nestor of Pylos'. Despite his obvious old age, Nestor was rather robust and moved with an unexpected ease. He had a nice smile and kind looking eyes. I thought to myself that, under the circumstances, being chosen for his household might well be the best possible hope for me or any of my fellow captives. He didn't seem like a man who would mistreat his servants – or rape his women.

He received the staff from Agamemnon and started a seemingly endless speech. He talked and talked and talked – about the glorious battles and conquests of old, the strong, brave and perfect heroes of his youth, the indescribable beauty of the women they'd brought back from their wars. Apparently, these days there wasn't anyone or anything that could even remotely compare with the magnificence that walked the earth back then.

I soon let my thoughts drift from Nestor's stories. For all the anguish I was feeling, the old man's calm, monotonous voice had a lulling effect on me and I guess I would have dozed off if I wasn't standing. Many of the Achaen warrior kings were nodding off shamelessly. I looked at you again. You didn't seem tense anymore, but neither were you stifling yawns. You were actually listening to Nestor, with a somewhat amused but affectionate smile on your lips. I wondered how the sharing would now proceed: would it go on by order of age? If it were so, you, as the youngest of the kings, would be the last in line. In spite of my hatred for you – which had been only a little mollified by what you'd done for my mother – even I had to admit that would be unbelievably unfair.

Suddenly, the words 'the son of Peleus' brought my attention back to Nestor's speech.

"The son of Peleus has yet again attained _kleos_. His valour is almost worthy of that of the glorious great men of old. Also, yet again he has brought us riches and the supplies we need to stay strong on our quest for honour. Bronze for our weapons, a sea of livestock for work and food, women to grace our tents and weave good, warm clothes for the winter. Now, _kleos_, glory in battle, is something heroes gain for themselves, not something other men can give them. However, it's only right that we should honour our heroes. Beside the glory he's earned for himself, I believe the son of Peleus also deserves to be awarded _geras_, a prize of honour, by the people."

Talkative or not, Nestor had just proven he was a wise man indeed. There were nods of approval from almost all the assembled kings. And then the din started: the men on the slope were also expressing their approval by beating their spears against their shields and issuing a sort of guttural roar. It was a long drawn out boom that reverberated all through the assembly, making the very ground vibrate.

It was scary, in more ways than one. I had lived in a royal court long enough to become instantly alert. That sort of support from the army for one specific leader was certain not to sit well with the other chieftains.

Sure enough, the mood had shifted: not a few of the kings were fidgeting uncomfortably in their seats and a good deal of them was slipping unconsciously closer to Agamemnon, while some others moved infinitesimally in your direction. The shrewdest pair of eyes I had ever seen or would ever see, belonging to a short, red-haired man, were darting back and forth between you and the Mycenaean king.

As for Agamemnon, he looked like a man who had just bitten into a particularly foul-tasting rotten fish. Again, it took no genius to figure out what was going through his mind: how far did your sway over the army go? Would you be able to take control of it and get it to turn on him? Use it to challenge his command and maybe even his throne?

But you were a warrior, not a politician. You viewed things, not in terms of power struggles, but in terms of honour and justly deserved rewards. While you were rising to take the staff Nestor was handing you, another old man, who was sitting next to you, whispered something urgently in your ear and you nodded distractedly.

You smiled openly at the men applauding from the slope, then turned to your fellow kings and began your speech with a simple and all-encompassing "thank you, my friends". You then proceeded to show your appreciation for Nestor's "precious wisdom and experience", and to express gratitude to Agamemnon, "the best of the Achaeans", for having provided your generation with an opportunity to prove themselves in a worthy cause. It was a polite statement, which you clearly found sufficient to establish your continued loyalty to the high king, but which was evidently nowhere near satisfactory in Agamemnon's eyes.

You, however, seemed oblivious to the Mycenaean's suspiciously narrowed lids and wary expression, and went on to praise your own men's courage and determination, mentioning each of your five captains by name. I was twistedly thinking that that self-assuredness of yours would still be the end of you, when you turned in the direction of the captives.

"As for the _geras_ the long-haired Achaeans have awarded me, I would wish to have the daughter of Briseus as my prize of honour."

Every last thought fled my mind like a stricken flock of panicked sparrows before the shadow of a hawk. You? I was to be given to _you_?

A whole new volcano of unimaginable hatred erupted in my chest. So that's what your supposed kindness to my mother was really about: you were now coming to cash in the favour. And if I tried to refuse to pay in the currency you demanded, you'd just take what you wanted from me anyway.

A Myrmidon materialized in front of me and someone gave me a gentle shove: "Go on, girl." I followed your ever stern-looking soldier in a haze of unreality, as if in a dream. Or rather a nightmare.

After a few shaky steps, my knees buckled beneath me and I started throwing up on the ground, a river of tears streaming down my face. So much for not giving my enemies the pleasure of seeing me become a trembling, sobbing wreck!

When the dry-heaving subsided, I looked up to see you watching me with the blank, inscrutable face of a cruel, distant deity.


	6. Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

The walk to your tent seemed like the longest of my life. When we arrived at the entrance to the Myrmidon camp, I had another dry-heaving episode and, just like before, I raised my head to find you staring at me with the same impenetrable blank expression. Then you turned, nodded to Patroclus and resumed walking.

Patroclus doubled back and stopped by my side. He ordered one of the other women who had been selected for your household to fetch me some water, then crouched next to me.

"Do you trust me, daughter of Briseus?", he asked in a low voice. "I promised I would do my best to make things as easy as possible for you. Achilles choosing you for himself makes it that much easier for me to keep my promise. Like I told you before, he always acts within the boundaries of honour. Believe me when I say that there is no reason for you to be so scared."

But I merely shook my head. No words could possibly assuage the fear and revulsion that seemed about to tear my body inside out. And even assuming I trusted Patroclus at all, which was by no means an established fact, I knew there wasn't really much he could do to keep me safe from you – and I certainly didn't believe you would be as honourable as he was saying.

Besides… I had just been given to you as a slave. Even if Patroclus was right and you abided strictly by the rules of honour, taking what you wanted from a slave would not be considered dishonourable by any standards. It would be well within your rights.

It was just plain hopeless. I drank the water the other woman brought me, pushed myself back on my feet and trudged on into the camp where I was sure what little remained of my life and of myself would be shattered that very night.

I had never known fear like that in my life, I had never even known such fear could exist. I fully expected to be raped on arrival.

But I wasn't. Not that night, nor the next, nor the one after that.

Twelve days later, I had finally become convinced that you would not use force to subdue me. Why was that, was an absolute mystery to me, as puzzling and impenetrable as your fathomless stare.

You didn't seem to be trying to use persuasion either. All our exchanges were brief and rather cold. You would tell me whatever it was that you wanted, I would stick to monosyllabic "yes, sir", "no, sir" answers.

Still, I had occupied the position in your household that would belong to your wife or concubine, if you had one. You made it clear that you expected me to take charge of your personal things, run the house and supervise the other slaves, but not do any heavy work myself. I had a loom, but instead of being given orders to produce a certain amount of fabric for clothes for you or your men, I was simply given beautifully dyed silk threads to weave whatever I pleased.

It was definitely puzzling and, to be honest, it somehow unsettled me. It made it increasingly difficult to label you or to fit you into any well-defined category. You seemed to keep challenging whatever ideas I constructed of you or of the part you were playing in my life.

"No, no, that one belongs to Patroclus, not Achilles", Iphis said, taking the chiton I had just folded and placed on top of your pile. We were sorting through the baskets of freshly washed clothes the servants had brought back from the river. "See, they both have more or less the same waist width, but Patroclus is shorter. This wouldn't even reach Achilles' knees."

That was a serious overstatement and I laughed.

"Alright, so maybe Achilles is only one hand taller than Patroclus, not a full foot", she went on, winking at me. "But he does look enormous, doesn't he?"

I shrugged. "I don't care how he looks."

Iphis shook her head, an amused twinkle in her eye: "You're a bit hard on the poor guy, aren't you?"

I stared at her, my jaw slack with shock.

"_I_ am hard on _him_ and _he_ is a poor guy?", I asked in disbelief.

It was her turn to shrug. "Well, he's been treating you as if you were some kind of virgin princess bride and you don't even bother to respond when he talks to you."

"That's not true", I objected. "I always answer politely when he addresses me for one reason or the other. I've never been disrespectful."

"Wise of you", Iphis commented ironically. "Achilles tends not to take too well to any perceived lack of respect." Then she laughed. "But that is not what I meant and you know it. Come on, Briseis, saying 'yes, sir', 'no, sir' with your eyes stubbornly down and your whole body rod-straight isn't exactly responding to an attempt at conversation."

"Well, I didn't realize that asking me whether his silver baskets for bread were properly polished was an attempt at conversation", I replied angrily.

"If you had bothered to look at him, you'd have realized he was actually asking for _your opinion _on the new silver baskets."

"That's rubbish, Iphis! What does he care about my opinion on anything? He didn't choose me to consult with me about interior decoration, or anything else for that matter. He chose me to…" My voice trailed off. Iphis looked triumphant:

"A-ha! There you go. What you mean is that he chose you to be his concubine, right? But so far you're obviously nothing of the sort and he has accepted your refusal without even trying to use his power to put pressure on you. Do you have any idea how many men would have done the same in his shoes?"

"Not many, I guess", I admitted reluctantly.

"Damn right, not many. I would even say very, very few", Iphis said. "The least you could do in return was speak normally to him."

"So you mean I should just be on my knees with gratitude that he didn't force himself on me, regardless of the fact that he's destroyed everything I ever cared for and took me into captivity? Is that how we're supposed to see things now? As in, 'Oh, my master doesn't rape me and doesn't beat me to a pulp, so I'll worship the ground he walks on'?"

Iphis became suddenly angry:

"I didn't say you should be on your knees, I just said you might want to speak to him as a normal person to another. Because that's how he's treating you, as a person. Not as an enemy to be crushed, or a slave to be put in her place, or some kind of piece of property to be disposed of as he sees fit. So I think maybe you should try to see beyond the first impression of the conqueror of your city and give the man a chance. Among other things, because it would probably be in your best interest. Do you really want to breed hostility with someone who now plays a big role in your life, whether you like it or not?"

"That wouldn't be very wise, would it?", I said, trying to bring a lighter tone back into the conversation. But then I sighed. "You're probably right and it would be better for me if I managed to cover up my hostility. But… it is pretty cowardly, isn't it? I mean, to be all nice and smiling to someone I hate just because I'm afraid of the repercussions. Not to mention it would be terribly undignified to make myself available to him only because it would be convenient for me to be in his good graces."

Iphis looked at me long and hard.

"Cowardly? Undignified? I'm beginning to realize what is drawing Achilles to you. The two of you have more in common than it looks at the first glance."

"I have things in common with Achilles? You've got to be kidding!", I cried, feeling utterly insulted. Iphis laughed, back to her good-natured self.

"Look, I didn't suggest you 'make yourself available to him', as you put it. What I suggested is that you try seeing him for what he is as a person, as opposed to clinging to the notion that he's the personification of all the evil things that happened to you and your people. I know he was the one who took your city, but was he really so cruel and ruthless that he's beyond forgiveness, or did he just do what any warrior does in any war? Like what your husband, or father, or brothers would have done? Or, what's more, did he actually prove to be more considerate than most conquering warriors usually are? Be honest about it, Briseis."

I stared at her.

"Was that how you adjusted to Patroclus?", I asked. "By thinking that it could have been worse?"

There was a long pause. Then Iphis spoke slowly, as if weighing each word:

"My town was also taken by Achilles and the Myrmidons. I've seen how they behaved toward our people: funeral honours for the fallen warriors, the surviving ones arrested to be sold overseas, but neither killed nor maimed. The soldiers kept under a tight discipline. No indiscriminate raping or murdering of women and children. They did it all so naturally I thought it was the norm. Then, on our way to the ships, we passed through another town in the island that had been taken by Odysseus and Diomedes. Every man in fighting age had been killed and the bodies left for the dogs and the crows. Except for a few select noble women who had been reserved to be distributed to the Achaen kings here, the soldiers had been given free rein to do as they pleased. Actually, after I got here I often heard mercy for enemies being mocked as "sissy" and rape being used as an incentive for the soldiers. Their slogan goes: 'Let's make sure every Achaen man lays with a Trojan woman to avenge the tears of Helen'. Bah! Avenging Helen. What a joke!" Iphis bit her lips angrily. "Anyway, after having seen the 'norm' with my own eyes, no, it didn't take a whole lot of thinking for me to begin appreciating men who manage not to lose sight of their moral standards even in war. I've been here long enough to realize it takes a great deal of inner strength to achieve that. Patroclus has that sort of strength and I've valued him for it since the beginning. Achilles has shown it too, at least up until now."

I was silent for a while, absorbing Iphis' story. "Yes, it's true that they also behaved honourably when they took Lyrnessus. But that still doesn't make all of this right", I argued at last.

"War is never completely right, is it? I mean, it always brings about a lot of wrongs", Iphis said. "But the way you chose to fight it may reduce or increase those wrongs. I believe that making an effort to keep misery to a minimum shows something about a man's character."

"You really like Patroclus, don't you? Didn't you ever resent having been given to him as a prize, as if you were just some kind of… pet or something?"

Iphis' lips arched slightly in a suddenly shy smile:

"Patroclus and I got along right from the start. When we got to that other town, while Achilles was busy spitting fire and shouting at Odysseus and Diomedes that that sort of thing wasn't really necessary, Patroclus organized a group of women to go help the ones who had been raped. He gave us medicine, bandages, clothes, food and even spiced wine to distribute, and then he accompanied us with a small Myrmidon detail for our protection. We got to know each other pretty well then. When we arrived here we were already rather close, so when Achilles gave me to him, it was more of a formalization of something that was about to happen anyway."

"Still, you were _given_", I insisted, unable to conceal the revulsion the mere idea caused me.

"When your parents arranged your marriage to your king, did they ask you how you felt about it? Didn't they just _give_ you to the suitor they found more convenient? Well, this wasn't very different. The only difference is that there was no wedding cerimony."

"And that makes all the difference in the world, doesn't it?" I whispered. "If you were married to him, you'd have rights. This way, you don't."

For a moment, there was a deep sadness in Iphis' eyes and I regretted yet again my uncanny tendency to speak without thinking. I reached out to comfort her, but she shook my arm away.

"Well, then the more important it is to be with a man of character, who doesn't need to be forced to do the right thing", she said, the almost aggressive finality in her voice putting an end to the conversation.


	7. Chapter Six

As usual, thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited and is following this story. Your feedback means the world to me.

CHAPTER SIX

The eagle shifts on my windowsill, its yellow eyes fixed on me. Bear with me just a while longer, winged lord of the skies. I would very much like to relive my life one last time before I let you carry me wherever it is you'll be going. If you're hungry, here, I've got some cheese I'll share with you.

The bird gives me a haughty look of contempt and takes flight, almost straight up. But it doesn't leave, just remains circling high overhead. Of course. Eagles don't take pieces of cheese tossed at them by human hands. They hunt their own prey.

I picture myself, young and pretty – yes, I know I was pretty – puking all over the ground the moment you expressed your interest in me in front of the entire Greek assembly. Goodness help me, a proud man as you were, that must have stung.

I laugh softly to myself. High above, I hear the eagle's cry. I think it sounds somewhat indignant, but it's probably just my imagination.

O-O-O

Avoiding to cross paths with you had already become almost second nature to me, so I looked around automatically to make sure you were outside before walking into your tent to put your clothes away in your chest. I lifted the cover and looked at the meticulously folded cloaks, tunics and chitons inside. On top of the clothes, wrapped in a fine piece of linen, was the precious cup no one was allowed to touch but you, the one you used exclusively for your libations to Zeus, usually before going to battle.

For the first time since arriving at your camp, I wondered what you prayed for when you raised that cup to the sky. Victory? Glory? Or, more simply, your life and the lives of your men? What did you feel when you headed for the battlefield? Did you dread the possibility that you might not come back? In spite of your apparent fearlessness, did you know what it meant to be afraid in the secret of your heart?

Looking at the cup resting on top of your clothes, I realized that giving me access to your personal things was indeed an act of trust. You didn't open the doors to your privacy easily. Perhaps I had been wrong and you were in fact trying to use persuasion to win me – not with words, but with actions.

Which would be perfectly typical, I thought to myself. Actions before words, yes, that would definitely be you.

"I got word from Eudorus." Your voice, right behind me, startled me out of my skin. It was eerie, the way you could move without making a sound. I stood up and you went on: "Your uncle went to pick up your mother and took her home with him. She's free."

_Eyes stubbornly down, your whole body rod-straight._ Iphis' words echoed inside my head. I made a deliberate effort to raise my eyes and look at you. You blinked briefly, as if caught by surprise.

There was no denying that you had been kind to my mother. There was no denying that bringing me the news that she'd been freed was actually considerate of you. And there was definitely no denying that you hadn't cashed in the favour the way I thought you would.

Maybe you really were better than I gave you credit for. I cleared my throat.

"Did Eudorus say anything about how she was doing?"

You were looking at me but you didn't answer right away, as if you were distracted by something. Then you said:

"Her wounds have healed. But for the rest, she was the same as when we left." After a pause, you added: "Maybe she'll improve now that she's with her family and back at her childhood home."

It was an attempt at comfort and I appreciated it.

"Yes, I hope so", I said. You nodded, hesitated as if you were about to say something else, then took a step back. I felt awkward.

"They're pretty", I said, gesturing vaguely toward the table. You raised your eyebrows in a mute question. "The bread baskets", I explained.

"I thought you might like them", you said, quite unexpectedly. "I'm glad you finally deigned to look at them."

I frowned up at you, but there was a mischievous, almost boyish smile playing on your lips, and I felt the corners of my mouth tug upwards in response.

Another thing there was no denying, was that you were an extremely handsome man…

What the hell was wrong with me?! To be civil with you was one thing, but to go all smiles and thinking you _attractive_… Get a grip, Briseis!

"Well, I have to go back to my loom. Thank you for the news about my mother."

Was that a look of disappointment on your face? If it was, it didn't even last a moment. Your voice became instantly cold and matter-of-factly:

"Very well. Send someone in with the best wine. Ajax is coming over for supper."

The words "yes, sir" were out of my mouth before I could even register what I was about to say and this time I undoubtedly saw your hands curl into fists at your sides.

Well, what did you expect? As I had told Iphis, was I supposed to just fall on my knees with gratitude that you didn't act like a brute?

I walked out of the tent, fuming not so much at you, but at myself. A group of girls were getting ready to go fetch water from the cistern. I beckoned them over, took the pitcher from the hands of one of them and gestured to the shed where the provisions were kept.

"Take some jars of the best wine to the tent of the son of Peleus. He'll be needing them for supper", I ordered. The girl gave me a look of surprise. I wasn't usually so curt to the servants. "Also, make sure to put some fresh bread on the freaking new baskets."

Beautiful. So now I was swearing like a soldier. This war camp environment was obviously rubbing off on me, and not for the better.

Or maybe it was just the fact that you unsettled me…

I balanced the pitcher on my hip and set off to the cistern with the other girls. Going to fetch water with the common servants was a bit of an act of defiance, a refusal of the privileges you had accorded me. Just doing that was making me feel better already.

I walked briskly ahead of the group, trying to release the pent up tension. The girls' voices behind me sounded like water skipping over the pebbles on a mountain stream.

I breathed in deeply. There was an almost giddy sensation of freedom in walking out in the open like that, just a young woman among a group of young women. When I was a child, sometimes I'd get permission to go with my mother's servants to the fountain or the river. Of course, all that was over as soon as I became engaged to Mynes. The king's bride could not be seen walking around in menial chores with common servants. And since I'd been married, I rarely ever left the palace at all. Being the queen was a coveted position, but, in a sense, it had meant being locked in a golden cage.

Well, a golden cage was still incomparably better than bronze shackles.

Except that I was wearing no shackles, was I? Going to the cistern for water tasted of freedom because I didn't have to do it twice every day, mornings and evenings, come rain or sunshine. It felt like a cheerful stroll because I was doing it of my own free will, not in obedience to somebody's orders. Because I didn't have to haul the heavy loaded pitchers back and forth even when my legs were aching and my arms were sore from a hard day's work.

A voice a little louder than the others cut through my daydreaming.

"You reckon this means 'e's goin' back to Diomeda?", she was saying. "If you ask me, it was 'igh time 'e figured what this one's been doin', stringin' 'im along."

"She's just bein' smart. I sure don' blame 'er for it", another voice replied. "Why shouldn' she get as much as she can from 'im before she gives 'im what 'e wants? If 'e's fallin' for it, that's 'is own problem. Men are fools an' if a girl knows 'ow to play the game, good for 'er."

"Yeah, but we're the ones what 'ave to put up with 'er 'igh an' mighty airs. Actin' lady o' the 'ouse and bossin' everyone around. Must think she's still a queen. An' now she's all pissed that 'e sent 'er to do some proper work, like the rest of us. Seen 'ow she spoke to Eudokia?"

I nearly tripped on my own feet. Was that how I looked to those women? Like a gold-digging, manipulative bitch? And arrogant to boot?

My throat constricted so much I could hardly breathe. The injustice of it all was choking me. They had no idea! Absolutely no idea. I hadn't been playing games, I hadn't been playing anything at all. I had been aching, and scared, and mourning.

I couldn't help myself. I turned around to confront them. They stopped on their tracks, startled.

"Not that I need to justify my actions to any of you lot", alright, so maybe I was a little arrogant after all, "but I'm tired of hearing you talk rubbish. When people don't know what they're saying, they would do well not to say anything at all. I'm here today because I chose to be, not because anybody ordered me to come. The position I have in the household of the son of Peleus is the one he entrusted me with, not because I've been 'playing games', as you put it, but because he thought I was the right person for the job. Hearing the way you indulge in idle gossip, it seems pretty obvious why he wouldn't choose any of you." I noticed with satisfaction that they were squirming a little. "And if you really believe the son of Peleus could be 'played' by some upstart bitch, then, by all means, go right ahead. Try doing that yourselves. You might find you wouldn't live long to regret it."

Had I just used your reputation to threaten them? Sweet Hera, what was the matter with me?

I turned my back on them and started walking again, breathing hard.

It was all your fault. You had put me in this position, where I was neither really free, nor just a simple slave. I hadn't asked anything from you, I didn't want anything from you, but you were making me look like a common whore in the eyes of those imbeciles.

Yet… would I want to trade places with those peasant girls who had nothing better to do than speculate about the love life of their master?

The answer, of course, was no. I had asked nothing of you, but I actually enjoyed what you had given me. Not the privileges as such – I had been working as hard as I could, because I found work helped distract me – but the relative autonomy. The responsibility. The respect.

The feeling that I was somehow special in your eyes.

The mother of all headaches made my brain throb against my skull. I couldn't tell heads from tails in my life anymore.


	8. Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

By the time we got back from the cistern, I was half blind from the headache. All I wanted was to crawl into some dark burrow and remain there for the rest of my days. I put down the loaded pitcher, slipped into the hut that served as women's quarters and dropped on my pallet.

I desperately needed to think. I laid down on my back, put a wet rag on my forehead, closed my eyes and tried to make sense of the turmoil going on in my brain.

Was there any chance that those women had a point? Was I in fact acting like a kind of sophisticated whore, accepting things from you – not material ones, granted, but still gifts, regardless of how impalpable they were? Could you possibly be thinking that I was playing some sort of game of cat and mouse with you, by the rules of which I would give in to you in the end?

There was only one honourable course of action: I would have to go to you and turn down the privileged position you had granted me. I was not, and I did not plan to become, your concubine, therefore I should not accept any of the privileges that might come with that role.

You would be angry, of course, but how deeply? To the point where you'd sell me off, or give me away? Considering your infamous temper, it might be a dangerous attitude to take, I said to myself with some trepidation. Perhaps I should think it through a little better…

No. I wouldn't have you or anyone else thinking I was "stringing you along", as those girls had put it. Dangerous or not, I would do the honourable thing and that was that.

And it was best to do it sooner rather than later, before I let other considerations rob me of my courage.

I sat up gingerly, testing the throbbing in my head. The coolness inside the hut and the wet rag had helped, and I was feeling a little better. I stood up, straightened my clothes, fixed my half undone braid and went looking for you.

You were standing outside your tent with Patroclus and Alcimedon, engrossed in some kind of archery contest. I watched for a while, then walked up to you.

"Son of Peleus", I said, addressing you formally, "I would need to have a word with you, please."

You seemed surprised, but nodded and led the way into your tent.

"Well?", you asked.

I hesitated, not knowing quite how to begin.

"You have been very kind to me so far", I said at last, tentatively. "I am grateful to you for all the things you gave me, the respect with which you've treated me and the trusted position you have granted me." I stopped. It was a tricky issue and I didn't really know how to bring it up. I was an idiot, I thought to myself angrily, any fool with an ounce of brain would at the very least have prepared her speech before barging out to talk to you.

"Anyway", I trudged on doggedly, "I found I can't meet all the expectations you may have from me." There, it was said. You would surely understand what I meant. I breathed in deeply, bracing for your inevitable outburst of rage.

You were looking me up and down with your usual inscrutable face.

"What expectations?", you asked calmly. "So far you've delivered very well on everything I entrusted you with."

Were you deliberately refusing to understand? I wiped my sweaty palms on my skirt.

"Well, this position you gave me… I've been thinking about it and there are some implications that I can't really fulfil, so I think… I assume… I mean, it should be held by some other woman, one who is willing to… who is available to…" There was no doubt about it: I was squirming and you were enjoying it.

More than enjoying it, you were actually trying not to laugh. I became seriously annoyed:

"You know very well what I mean. You gave me the position of a concubine, but I am not your concubine, nor do I intend to be. Not ever. So…"

"So you'd rather become a water girl, is that it?"

Your voice remained as calm as before, but the hint of amusement had disappeared from your face.

"Yes, that's it." I breathed in again. It wasn't it, being a water girl was not at all what I wanted, but it was better than feeling like I might be playing less than honourable games.

"Because you don't intend on selling what you assume I am trying to buy from you?" Your voice was now lower, darker. I shuddered. The rage was coming and I had no idea what form it might take. Still, I nodded in confirmation.

"Yes."

You paced all the way to the far wall, then turned around abruptly:

"Well, let me clarify a couple of things for you, _former_ queen of Lyrnessus." Your voice cut like a bronze blade, every word was meant to wound. "Firstly, I don't buy that kind of favours from women. They either give them to me freely, or they don't. Up to now, I have not had reason to complain of lack of bedmates. Secondly, I did not appoint you as my concubine, I appointed you as my _governess_. That's what you are, _all_ that you are, and I happen to be pleased with your services thus far. So my expectations from you are that you carry on fulfilling your duties in my household and not bother me with your wishes or lack thereof regarding the possibility of sharing my bed. Do you think you can meet these expectations?"

Halfway through your speech I was already blushing violently, when you finished I was actually shivering in humiliation. But I clenched my fists, raised my head and straightened my back.

"Yes, I can. Sir."

"Very well. You may go, then."

I turned and walked to the door, tears pricking at my eyes. "All I wanted was for you not to think I was leading you on", I muttered furiously to myself.

"Wait!" It was a bellow of command, your projected voice hitting me like a physical blow. I froze on the spot, turned warily back to face you.

"What's that you said?"

I looked up at you, not understanding. "I beg your pardon?"

"Just now, what did you say?" Somewhere in the depths of your unreadable, blank face there was an alertness, something watchful and scrutinizing like the focused, assessing eyes of a predator.

"I said that I just didn't want you to think I was leading you on", I replied in a whisper, losing my battle to contain the tears of shame that were now dripping down my cheeks.

You studied me for a long time, without saying a word. Then your features softened slightly.

"You mean you came to tell me that you didn't want me because you were worried I might think you were leading me on?"

I nodded helplessly.

"You were worried what I might think?", you pressed.

"Yes", I said. "I figured that is was dishonourable to accept the special treatment you were offering me, because it might lead you to believe… well, it might lead you into false hopes. You've acted quite decently toward me, so I wanted to make sure I was decent to you as well. At least, that my intentions were clear to you." I paused. "Of course, I needn't have worried after all."

You stared at me a while longer, then shook your head.

"You really are one of a kind", you said, more to yourself than to me. Then you started pacing again. Finally, you stopped in front of me.

"Alright. I'm sorry I was so aggressive just now. You had hurt me, so I hurt you back." It was uncanny, how you could make that sound not as an apology, but as a mere statement. "You were right on a few things, wrong on others. It's true that I am interested in you. Have been since I first saw you at the walls in Lyrnessus. I liked the fact that you were not pretending to grieve for your husband more than what you were actually grieving. I know you thought I was criticizing you, but I was not. I appreciate honesty and it's rare enough to come across a woman who is honest about her feelings, who doesn't pretend in order to conform to what conventions require of her. While we're at it, let me tell you that I also admired the fact that you didn't succumb to fear either, and expressed your not very flattering wishes to see me burn, quite vehemently, that same day." You smiled crookedly, then became serious again. "On the other hand, you were absolutely wrong about 'leading me on', as you put it. Your intentions, or rather, your lack of intentions regarding me have been perfectly clear from the start. I would even say, painfully clear." You shook your head again. "When I chose to make a wild bet on you, it was a risk I was entirely aware of. So, no, you needn't have worried, but not for the reasons you were thinking."

I was speechless. You had been drawn to me because of something most would have considered a flaw? And you were confessing so freely to being interested in me, admitting so lightly that you knew I didn't reciprocate that interest?

You definitely defied understanding.

You walked over to the table, poured some wine into two cups, then handed me one.

"Here, have a drink. If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were about to faint." You poured some drops on the ground, as a libation to the gods, then took a good swig off your cup.

"Now that we got all this out of the way, let me make my intentions as clear as yours." Your lips broke into that mischievous smile that made you look as young as you actually were. "I have been after you and I fully intend to carry on doing so. I will go on treating you as I believe you want to be treated, until I find a way to breach those walls you built to keep me out. I'm telling you this so that you're aware of what you can count on, that you may not accuse me of having lulled you into a false sense of security. You know, because I don't want you to think I'm leading you on." Your smile grew into a grin and I experienced a sudden wish to hit you about the head with my cup, but instead I realized I was actually smiling back. "May I also say that I find that your worry about what I might think of you, and your care not to lead me into false hopes, are a sign that you're in fact more receptive to me than you say you are. Rather encouraging, really."

Now I definitely wanted to hit you.

"So, the challenge is on", you concluded. "We both know what the other is about. I would say may the best man win, but since you're not a man, that wouldn't sound very appropriate."

"No, it would not", I agreed. "So let's make it may the best player win."

Then I froze, appalled. Had I just fallen into your trap? Agreed to think of the whole thing as a game, a challenge? You laughed heartily and I blushed.

"You _are_ one of a kind, you know?", you said, softly now. "In more ways than one. Listen, I had been meaning to do this for a while now, so here goes: I want you to start eating with me. Pick two girls to keep you company: Iphis, because of Patroclus, and another one of your choice, and set a women's table in my tent, across from the men's. From now on, you'll be the hostess in my house."

I nodded reflexively and walked out, feeling like the world had just toppled upside down on its axis.


	9. Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

"It's hard to believe you ever managed to walk on thin ice without it cracking under your feet", you commented to Ajax.

We were all sitting for supper: you, Patroclus, Alcimedon and your cousin and guest, Ajax Telamon, at the men's table, me, Iphis and the other woman I had invited at the smaller women's table across from yours. In accordance with my new role as hostess, I had looked for a topic that would allow for general conversation while being agreeable to your guest, so I had asked whether it was true that you and Ajax had studied under Chiron. That had triggered a string of memories from both of you.

"Walk on thin ice?", I asked.

"Yes", you explained. "When the rivers started to freeze on Mount Pelion, in early winter, Chiron would make us walk over the thin ice, so that we'd learn to be light on our feet. But I have some trouble believing that my bear of a cousin here was actually ever able to do that."

"I was a little smaller back then", Ajax said good-naturedly. "But it's true that Chiron had to give up making me do it since I became about nine years old."

"But wasn't that terribly dangerous? I mean, if the ice cracked, you could die", Iphis said.

"He'd tie a rope around our waist, the other end to his horse's saddle, and he would hold on to the middle. When the ice cracked, he'd pull us out. But, of course, facing danger was also part of the lesson", you answered lightly.

It was time I contributed something again:

"A saddle? Wasn't Chiron a centaur?"

You and Ajax laughed.

"Centaurs are a very ancient tribe of great horsemen. A little wild, mind you, and not exactly friendly to Achaean tribes, at least most of them", you said, "but as human as any of us. The thing is, outside their tribe's land they're rarely ever seen off their horses, so people started thinking they were part man, part horse."

"They can practically live on horseback", Ajax supplied. "And it's a fact that they actually look more comfortable on their horses than on their feet."

You smiled. "Chiron certainly did. His legs were so arched he seemed to wobble from side to side when he walked. Worse than a sailor. But I've never seen anything as graceful as him riding a horse."

"Their female counterparts are supposed to be the Amazons", Patroclus said. "Not that I've ever seen one, though."

"I did", you recalled. "One of them came to talk with Chiron, once. Now, I have to take back what I said before: _she_ looked even more graceful than him on horseback. Most frightening woman I've ever seen. She cast me such a look I had to check whether my blood hadn't turned to dust in my veins."

"Are you admitting to being frightened?", Patroclus joked. "Of a woman to boot?"

You gave him a playful shove: "Watch your mouth, _therapon_, unless you want to find yourself on latrine duty."

You were relaxed, cheerful. I had never actually seen you like that, or, at least, I had never noticed it. Still, although I was taking part in the conversation as naturally as I could, I felt a little uncomfortable and avoided making eye contact with you.

After my brush-off with you earlier that evening, I had gone straight to Iphis and told her what had happened. She listened wide-eyed, in a mix of astonishment and exasperation.

"You must be crazy, girl!", she said at last. "From now on, you're strictly forbidden to go anywhere without first explaining to me exactly what you mean to do. Going to Achilles to say you wanted to be demoted to a common slave's status… Mighty Olympus, you really must be _raving_ mad." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "You do realize you were lucky, don't you? He must care more for you than he's been letting on."

"He did say he was interested in me, but that doesn't really mean all that much, does it?", I replied. "I mean, that's just an euphemism for saying that he wants me and, on second thought, that isn't really news, is it? Why else would he have asked for me?" While talking to Iphis, I had calmed down enough to start putting your words into perspective. There really was no point in reading too much into them. The only thing worth worrying about was that absurd dare you had tricked me into, but even that would eventually wear out by itself. In that particular case, time would be on my side: when you realized for sure that you were getting nowhere with me, you would channel your "interest" elsewhere.

Iphis nodded. "No, that's not news. Patroclus had already told me even a blind could see Achilles had wanted you from day one." She smiled smugly, then became serious again. "But there was one very meaningful thing, which he tried to cover up with that barrage of words that left you reeling." She stopped as if expecting me to know what she was talking about. Seeing my blank expression, she clarified: "He admitted that you had hurt him."

I creased my brow: "That wasn't an admission, it was a kind of justification for having been so obnoxious. A sort of way of apologizing without being exactly humble about it."

Iphis shook her head. "No. If you want to have any hope of understanding Achilles at all, you can never forget that he is a warrior to the bone. This means basically two main things: one, he never, _ever_, admits to any kind of vulnerability. He never shows pain, whether physical or emotional. Not even when he's injured, because he believes that would make him look vulnerable and, in his world, vulnerable means weak and, as brutal as it sounds, weak means dead. So he may show anger, pride, aggression, but not pain. Second, that mind of his is used to functioning under terrible pressure, in kill-or-be-killed situations. Actually, it is at its sharpest precisely when he gets into a fight, _any_ kind of fight. Finally, there's one third thing: when one looks at him and sees that great, physically powerful warrior, it's easy to overlook the fact that he's been a general since he was sixteen. He's a _strategist_. Most of the time, he knows exactly what he's doing and there is a well-defined purpose to his actions."

She paused, as if collecting her thoughts in order to explain herself as clearly as possible, then went on:

"Looking at what you told me in light of all this, the really important moment, the truly meaningful fact, was that he let slip that you had hurt him. The aggressive reaction was normal enough for Achilles – showing anger instead of pain. But then he lowered his guard, even if only slightly, and allowed that admission to escape him. I have to tell you, in all the years I've been here, this is the absolute first time I've heard of Achilles admitting to any kind of pain. Of course, he must have realized his mistake even before he had finished making it, so he proceeded to cover it up with a cocky attitude and a string of statements that made _you_ feel vulnerable. But that is the part where he is used to keeping his wits about him under pressure and regain the upper hand after a slip. It doesn't change the rather remarkable fact itself: you have the power to hurt him, and to do so deeply enough that he forgot himself and showed you a chink in his figurative armour."

I made a face: "Well, I think that if I hurt anything, it was his pride, not his feelings. But whatever the case, it's not a power I care to wield ever again. The retaliation was swift and ruthless. I felt like a piece of dirt."

Iphis gave me a comforting pat on the shoulder. "A piece of dog shit is the expression Patroclus uses to describe it. Yes, that's Achilles for you. Swift and ruthless… but not devoid of a heart." Then she smiled knowingly: "So now you're to be hostess in his house. That is another remarkable evolution, previously unheard of. And I'm to be one of your guests – thank you for the invitation, by the way. Who else are you going to ask?"

I thought about it for a while. "I think I'll pick someone older. You know, to bring respectability to the situation." Iphis had approved wholeheartedly, so I had chosen a middle-aged woman from a noble family of Lesbos, who had actually known my mother in her youth, to be the third member of my small female party.

When I arrived in your hut flanked by my two guests, you glanced at the older woman, then turned to me and mouthed, "Clever", with a crooked smile. I have to admit that made me feel incredibly smug.

Now I was watching you swap jokes and childhood memories with your cousin and Patroclus, and, try as I might, I couldn't find the warrior Iphis had described in the young man before me. Yes, I had experienced first-hand how ruthless you could be – both in combat and in personal circumstances. But you looked so young and lively right now – too young and lively to be a survivor of countless life and death situations, a war veteran who had learned not to show pain lest the tiniest sign of weakness got him killed.

For all your straightforwardness and purported frankness, your very looks had a somehow deceptive effect. It was easy to underestimate you, at least out of the battlefield.

"A woman can look really elegant on horseback, if she's a good rider", Ajax was musing. "I gave my Tecmessa a mare. She looks wonderful on it."

"Iphis is a good rider too", Patroclus said, smiling affectionately at the girl sitting next to me.

"What about you, Briseis?", you asked. "Do you enjoy horseback riding?"

I cringed a little at having suddenly become the centre of attention.

"No", I answered. "Unfortunately, I've always been terrified of horses."

"Why is that? Did you ever fall off one?", you pressed.

"No, I never even rode enough to actually fall. The first time I was ever put on a horse, I started crying and screaming so much that they had to take me off. It was my father's horse and I panicked because it was so tall."

"That's a shame", you said. "And you never tried again?"

"Every time anyone tried to bring me even close to a horse, I'd start panicking again. Eventually, they just gave up trying to force me to ride."

"It must have felt odd", you said. "The whole Troad is horsemen country."

I nodded: "Yes. I've always been teased because of it. Particularly because of my name."

"Because of your name? What do you mean?"

I chuckled. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there was a sense of surprise that I was actually enjoying the conversation.

"Well, my given name is Hippodameia, so ..."

Everybody laughed and that made me feel oddly pleased.

"Tamer of horses", you said. "No, that doesn't seem like the right name for someone who's afraid of the poor beasts." You paused, then added: "So that's why you always use your patronymic. I'd been wondering whether you did it as a way to keep people at arm's length."

Your smirk made it a bit of a taunt, so I smirked right back at you:

"I don't want to keep everybody at arm's length. Only a few ill-intentioned people."

You laughed and I found myself laughing along with you.

I was having fun, more fun than I'd had in a very long time. Ever since I had been married and forced to present myself with the majesty and solemnity appropriate for a queen.

But it was wrong. I was in a miserable situation, wasn't I? And you were the person responsible for it. How could I be enjoying myself this way at your table?

Your eyes were on me, with that same predatory alertness I had seen in them earlier. Yes, your youthful appearance was deceptive and Iphis was absolutely right: you knew exactly what you were doing and you were using strategy on me. The problem was that it was working.


	10. Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

A month later, we had developed a routine of sorts. When the Myrmidons had to march – which happened about every other day – you and Patroclus would leave with them in the morning, after eating a particularly hearty breakfast cooked by Patroclus himself, and would return late in the afternoon, exhausted and covered in blood and dirt. However tired you might be, you'd always make a quick tour of the camp to check on your men and give them a word of praise, encouragement or comfort, and to make sure the wounded were being cared for, then you'd go to your hut to have a bath and rest. You never asked me to assist you with your bath, an act of courtesy I truly appreciated, but you always called me to keep you company afterwards.

You'd be sitting on your chair with your eyes closed, drinking a goblet of spiced wine, and you'd ask me to tell you about myself. Whatever I felt like telling, you'd say, without opening your eyes, when I tried to ask what it was that you wanted me to talk about. I realized soon enough that you just wanted something to distract you from the still raw memories of battle, so I tried to choose funny stories, mostly from my childhood or from the women's everyday life at the camp. You'd seem to be slumbering, but you'd contribute an occasional comment or ask me a question now and again.

At night I'd sit for supper in your tent, always accompanied by Iphis and my chosen chaperon, who was, quite appropriately, called Sophronia. Besides Patroclus, who lived in your tent and, therefore, always ate there as well, you'd usually have two or three other guests, the more regular being Phoenix, Alcimedon and Eudorus, who had already returned from Lyrnessus. By then you'd have recovered from your post-battle exhaustion at least enough to enter the match of wits and wills that your original dare had become.

I was slowly learning to know you. I had to admit I enjoyed the light conversations at supper and, what was a little harder to forgive myself for, that the duel of minds with you made me feel unexpectedly alive and even powerful – being able to stand my ground with someone like you as an opponent gave me a whole new sense of self-confidence. But those quiet moments in your tent had a magic all their own. It was then that I caught glimpses into your inner self, into what your core as a person was really made of.

On those occasions, your defensive barriers would be stripped to their bare minimum. You were simply too tired to be a predator, too depleted to be a tough warrior, too raw to be a strategist. You did keep whatever pain, physical or otherwise, you might be feeling under a tight check, and your features seemed more blank and expressionless than ever, but weariness was carved on every line of your face, making you look ten years older than you actually were.

Sometimes when you arrived you were in a state of euphoria, which at first I attributed to the exhilaration of victory. But when I asked you about it, you opened one eye just a crack, shook your head and said simply: "No. I arrived euphoric because I was alive." Then you shut your eye again and added under your breath: "And so were all of my men."

And that, I was beginning to understand, was the true foundation on which most of your actions were built. The main basic rule you lived by. When everything went well, that is, when every man that had left in the morning came back in the evening, you'd arrive euphoric, charged with some inexplicable kind of energy that only wore off when exhaustion caught up with you after your bath. But when any of your men was felled on the battlefield, you'd arrive grim and silent, wearing darkness like an aura around you. On those days, you never brought back prisoners. It was Patroclus who explained to me, in a voice so clipped it could have been yours: "When one of ours falls, we avenge him."

However grudgingly, I had to respect you for your attitude toward your men. Although you had split them into five autonomous divisions, each with its own captain, you never let any of them go into battle without you. When they marched, so did you. That meant that the men rotated – you rarely sent out the same division two days in a row – but you had very little rest.

That particular day was one of the bad ones. You climbed down from your chariot, exchanged a few words with Patroclus and went straight to your tent, your face sombre and your footsteps heavy. You signalled for me to follow you and I obeyed, a little worried.

"I need help with my straps", you said. "I'm having trouble moving my left arm." I nodded and fumbled with the buckles until I managed to rid you of your cuirass. When it came off, I took a step back in horror. Your shoulder was completely dislocated, your left flank bruised black and blue.

"What happened?", I asked, looking around for something I could use to help set your shoulder.

"We got caught in an ambush on the river bank. Bad terrain, the chariots were useless. I jumped down to fight alongside the guys. We were doing alright, pushing the enemy back, then our line broke." You clenched your teeth, a sudden savage look in your eyes. "A coward withdrew, instead of holding his position. His comrade was left exposed and got killed on the spot. A breach in the phalanx, the whole formation messed up for a moment. Enough to get another two men killed and several injured. We regrouped, of course, and left no enemy standing to enjoy his delusion of triumph. But we lost three of ours and there's no telling whether all of the injured will make it."

Without warning, you walked up to the wall and slammed your shoulder violently against it. I screamed in shock. You swayed, your face so ashen that even the lips where livid, then slammed your shoulder again. Then you staggered to your chair and sunk on it.

"Get me some wine, will you?", you asked, your voice barely audible. You hadn't cried out, you hadn't made a sound, but you were clearly on the brink of unconsciousness. I rushed to fill your goblet and handed it to you.

"Thanks", you whispered. But your hands were shaking so badly I feared you'd drop the cup.

"Here, let me help you", I said, letting a few drops of wine fall on the floor for the gods, then steadying your hand to raise the goblet to your lips. You drank deeply, then rested the cup on your thigh, closed your eyes and remained motionless for a long while.

"Five years of war and I find out there's a coward in my Myrmidons", you murmured at last. "A coward in my Myrmidons!", you repeated, louder this time.

"Maybe something happened to him as well", I suggested. "Perhaps he was injured first and that's why he pulled back."

You shook your head, eyes still closed. "I'm afraid not. I heard his comrade shouting 'where're you going' before being hit with a spear to the chest." There was a pause, then you added: "But we'll find out for sure before his sentence is issued. Patroclus is calling the court as we speak."

"Who will be the judges?"

"The man's own captain, Pyndarus, the three eldest veterans in his division, the captains of the other four divisions, and myself."

"You have the final decision", I stated more than asked.

"Yes, of course. But I listen to the others first."

"When you say the eldest veterans in the man's division, you mean common foot soldiers?"

"Yes. It's right that the men are judged also by their peers. I also take particular note of the veterans' position before making my decision."

"If he's found guilty of cowardice, what will be his sentence?"

"In a case like this, where his actions were the direct cause of death for some of his comrades, it's equivalent to treason and the penalty is death by stoning. And his family will be dishonoured."

"Death by stoning?"

You nodded, your lids as shut as before. "The sentence is carried out by his own comrades."

"But if…" I was feeling ill-at-ease. I could understand how the cowardice of one man might put the lives of a whole phalanx in jeopardy, but a death penalty for a first offence seemed too harsh. "What if it was a once in a lifetime mistake, a moment of panic, unlikely to happen ever again? I mean, you said yourself that the war has already lasted five years. This was surely not the first battle this man has fought. He may even have been heroic on other occasions. He must be punished, there's no question about it, but shouldn't he be given a second chance?"

You finally opened your eyes and locked them with mine. To my surprise, I realized that the main emotion in them was not anger anymore, but sadness.

"Death gives no second chances, Briseis. The three Myrmidons who lost their lives because of that man's cowardice won't have a chance to live again. So if he's found guilty… he'll deserve his sentence." You rubbed your face with your hands, cringing when you raised your left arm. "But if indeed he's behaved bravely in the past, even if only once, his comrades will have mercy on him. They'll move for his family not to be dishonoured, they'll probably even help the poor wretch's relatives themselves. And they'll deal him a quick death."

"I thought it would be death by stoning?"

"Yes, but like I said, the sentence is carried out by the man's own comrades. This means they can either aim for the head and finish him off with two or three throws, or aim for the limbs and lower body and make it very slow and painful. That will depend precisely on how he's behaved in the past. If he's ever saved a comrade's life, for instance, that comrade will make sure he doesn't suffer and will take care of his family for him."

There was a brief silence. Then you sat up on the chair and rolled your shoulder tentatively.

"Good, it's getting better. Thank you for your help. You may leave now, if you want. I need to clean myself up."

I hesitated. You were still pale and rising awkwardly from your chair, trying to spare the injured shoulder.

"No, I'll stay and help. You're not alright yet", I said on an impulse.

You gazed at me, your face suddenly inscrutable again. Then you nodded gravely:

"Thank you."

I unclasped your greaves, then you finished undressing on your own and walked slowly to the wooden basin around which the servants had previously put the jugs of warm water for you. You grabbed one of the jugs to pour the water over your head, but it was heavy, hard to lift with just one hand, so I moved around you to help.

I kept my eyes resolutely averted, but it was impossible not to see the outlines of your body with my peripheral vision. I lowered my head, moved slightly to the side, then passed you the sponge almost with my back turned. There was an unmistakable chuckle in your voice when you said "thanks".

"How did that happen?", I asked at last to break up the awkwardness, gesturing vaguely at your bruised side.

"Pushing the Trojans shield against shield in order to close the breach in our lines. It was difficult, took quite a great deal of effort."

"You were pushing on the front line, then?"

I felt your eyes on me, but kept mine down.

"I'm always on the front line."

Of course you were. I knew that already, didn't I? I wanted to see your face, but I didn't want to look at you.

"Mighty Zeus, Briseis! Just hand me that towel, will you?" Your voice was shaking with laughter.

I did as you asked.

"Alright, you may look now", you said a moment later. I turned to see that you had wrapped the towel around your waist and were smiling at me with an entirely expected look of amusement, but also a totally unexpected expression of endearment.

And I was breathless. "Beauty" was the only word swirling around in my mind. You were beautiful. All the way from the golden hair, darkened by the water and sticking all around your head like some wild frame to your perfectly symmetric face, with its straight nose and strangely delicate lips, to the sculpted body and long muscled legs. Just… beautiful.

I don't know how long I stood there staring without speaking a word. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small voice was wondering why you seemed to be as entranced as me, why would you be reaching out so slowly to my face, but it was as though my eyesight had taken over all of my brain, not leaving room to process anything else.

Then there was a knock on the door. I stumbled hurriedly back, you turned abruptly.

It was Patroclus. He stood on the doorway for a moment, taking in the scene, then said:

"The court is assembled. It's time to go."


	11. Chapter Ten

Alexandra Maddox, almythea: Thank you so much for your very kind reviews. You made my day

This chapter is a bit longer than the previous ones. Hopefully that will make up a little for slower updates over the next couple of weeks – got a big workload to catch up on.

CHAPTER TEN

A volley of stones flew straight at the sentenced man's head. None missed, none struck anywhere else in his body. Myrmidon accuracy, I thought to myself sadly as the man fell dead on the ground.

Even the air itself seemed to weigh as heavy as led on the shoulders of the Myrmidon army, assembled to witness the trial and sentence of their comrade. There was not one man who didn't look grim and solemn.

The proceedings had been quick. The man accused of cowardice had stood before his judges and his pears, head hung low, and confessed to having tried to flee the battlefield. The trial had been conducted in the Myrmidon tribal dialect, but it wasn't really necessary to understand the words being said to realize what was happening. The whole body language of the accused man, who seemed about to collapse under the crushing weight of shame, and the gloomy austerity on the faces of the judges, spoke clearly enough.

Like you had said, you listened to what the other judges had to say before issuing your sentence. No voice rose to ask for leniency. The man was taken outside the camp's limits, the Myrmidons formed in ranks and watched as the members of the man's phalanx put down their weapons, grabbed a handful of heavy stones each and carried out the sentence on their own disgraced comrade.

Afterward, two of the eldest veterans of the phalanx walked up to you and seemed to be asking for some kind of mercy. You nodded once and pointed to a place near the edge of the cape. The dead man was then wrapped in a non-descript linen sheet and carried on the shoulders of his former comrades in the direction you had pointed. I realized they had asked for the body to be buried, instead of being abandoned to the animals, and you had agreed, but he would remain stripped of any weapons or Myrmidon insignia, and the burial site would be far from the camp, not on the same hallowed ground where the ones fallen in the battlefield found their final resting place.

The ranks broke up and the men returned to the camp. I noticed many of the glum faces passing me by were sporting red eyes, glittering with ill-contained tears. I looked instinctively at you and although your features were the hardest and blankest I had ever seen them, your eyes too were unmistakably red.

That night there was no merry supper with guests and witty banter. The division of the man found guilty of cowardice left to spend the night fasting and keeping vigil in preparation for a purification rite that would be performed at dawn and, as I might have guessed, you went with them to share in the vigil and lead the rite. The rest of the men retired to their respective tents in a subdued silence.

It was as though the entire Myrmidon camp was engaged in fast and vigil, and I was no exception. I tossed and turned in my pallet in the women's quarters, my eyes wide open in the dark.

What had nearly happened that afternoon couldn't happen again. Never. It was wrong in every way possible. What I had felt went far beyond mere attraction. I had _wanted_ you with every fibre of my being. I had been entranced, fascinated, my brain frozen and my heart in full gallop, _for the man who had killed my husband_.

Hera forgive me! I was no better than the soldier who had been stoned to death only a while earlier. As a widow, I was free to take another man without there being adultery, but getting involved with you of my own free will would be an undeniable act of betrayal against my husband's memory. Yes, I was free to take another man, but not you. _Any_ man but you.

It would have been different if you had used the power you held over me. In such circumstances I would have been innocent, even if later I adjusted to the fait accompli and tried to make the best of a situation I had been powerless to avoid, as so many women had done before me and so many more would undoubtedly do after me. In a way, as I had done myself in my marriage to Mynes.

But that was not the case. As absurd as it seemed, I wasn't as powerless with you as I had been in my husband's house. I could say no. I had been saying no since I'd been brought here. If I now changed the "no" to a "yes", it would be because I wanted to.

And therein laid the betrayal.

I buried my face in my blanket, trying to muffle the sobs tearing through my body. I felt someone stir in her pallet, not very far from mine, stuck my fist in my mouth and remained motionless until all I could hear was the sound of rhythmic breathing all around me. Then I slipped out of bed, wrapped myself in my cloak and slid silently outside.

The night was quiet, a luxurious wealth of stars glittering in the velvety black sky. I walked down the path between the ships to the shore and sat down on the sand, gazing at the even deeper black of the sea. The waves crashed loudly against the rocks, like some mad apocalyptic drummer.

What was drawing me so deeply to you? I wasn't some kind of bubbleheaded idiot to fall for the first pretty face to cross my path and I was very clearly aware of your flaws and shortcomings. As Patroclus had said back in Lyrnessus, that day that already seemed so long ago, you weren't exactly the most amenable man on Earth. Or the easiest. You were proud to the point of arrogance, you were aggressive, authoritative, demanding, headstrong. On the upside, you were honourable, loyal, unquestionably devoted to the people you cared for. You were also surprisingly attentive and caring toward the elderly, like Phoenix and Nestor. You always found a way to show them both the respect you believed they were due and, what struck me as particularly endearing, to indicate that you still saw in them the qualities that had made them stand out in their prime. Not less surprisingly, you were willing to accept that your subordinates could have a different opinion than yours and to actually listen to that opinion – even if ultimately you'd follow your own judgement.

I had begun by hating you, but that had obviously changed. The question was, into what? I had learned to respect you, that was clear enough, and even to admire some of your qualities. I also appreciated the way you had treated me and the considerate attitude you had toward your prisoners. Had I grown to actually like you?

Not really. Not simply. Not the way I liked Patroclus, for instance. He was nice, amiable, good-natured. You were definitely none of those things. I felt comfortable around him, I had grown to trust him, in fact I thought of him as a friend. With you… I certainly didn't feel comfortable, on the contrary, I felt continuously challenged. I did trust you in many ways, but I wouldn't dream of looking to you for a shoulder to cry on.

A wave crashed higher on the sand, spraying my cloak with tiny pearls of salt water. A pearl, yes, that would be Patroclus. Steadily translucent, glowing softly like the moonlight, smooth to the touch, no edges on which to scratch the tips of my fingers.

You, on the other hand, were all hardness and cutting edges. Shining brightly in layers upon layers of clear depths that could reflect all the colours of the sun's light, as well as all the shades of blackness of the night.

A diamond.

People liked pearls, but diamonds inspired passion. I curled up in a ball on the sand and cried myself to sleep.

O – O - O

A hand brushing lightly on my shoulder woke me up. The sun was already high in the sky, the sand had scratched my cheek and the back of my hand. I sat up, rubbing the sleep off my eyes.

You sat down next to me. You looked more exhausted than ever and your movements were stiff and careful, but the most prominent feature in your eyes was worry:

"What happened? Why are you sleeping out here?"

"I kept tossing and turning in my bed. I didn't want to disturb the other women, so I came outside and I'm afraid I ended up falling asleep on the ground."

You stared at me for a while. "You shouldn't have watched the execution. I didn't realize you'd be that impressed or I wouldn't have allowed you to."

I shook my head. "It wasn't because of the execution. It was quick and rather painless. I've seen much worse."

"What was it, then?"

I hesitated. But I had to put an end to this thing that had started to grow in me before it got completely out of hand.

"Achilles, please try to understand: it's nothing against you. Not really, not anymore. But what almost happened yesterday… it can't happen again. It's wrong, morally wrong."

That ominous calm that heralded the rising of a storm spread all over your face.

"Why is it wrong?"

I shook my head desperately. I didn't want to tell you the truth.

"Why is it wrong, Briseis?" You waited a little, then, realizing I wasn't going to answer: "I want it, you want it as well – don't deny it, I've seen it quite clearly yesterday. Neither of us is married. So, what is morally wrong about it?"

I looked suddenly up at you:

"You're not married?"

You smiled tightly: "No, I'm not. What led you to believe I was?"

"Well, I know you have a son, so I thought that maybe…"

"You do realize people don't need to be married to have children, don't you?"

I wanted to respond to your ironical smile, but I remained serious:

"But that was not really the point anyway."

"Then what was it?"

"Achilles, please, just think about it a little. You know why it's wrong."

"No, I don't."

I searched your face, but, of course, it was completely impenetrable. Finally, I whispered almost inaudibly:

"You killed my husband."

"Ah." You stretched your legs on the sand, as if you were making yourself comfortable. "That makes it morally wrong, you say?"

"Of course it does! It would be unbelievably disloyal to his memory."

"And his memory as a husband is worthy of your loyalty?", you asked with that same eerie calm.

I stared incredulously at you: "Look, as you pointed out explicitly yourself, I never pretended to love him more than I did. But I've always respected him and been true to him, and I don't want to shame his memory by becoming willingly involved with his slayer."

Your jaw was set, the storm was rising in your eyes. Still, you kept your apparent calm.

"I killed him in battle. He was as armed as I was, and trying his fucking damnedest to kill _me_." I looked up in surprise; you had never sworn in front of me before. "It was not like I murdered him treacherously in his innocent sleep. Besides, when I did get him cornered, I offered him a chance to yield and he refused. He wanted to go down fighting, like a true warrior, so that's exactly what I gave him. I respected him for that, mind you. It's the exact same choice I hope I'll make when my time comes." You paused for breath. "But that's from warrior to warrior, and it's not even the issue here. It's just an answer to the implications of your accusation against me. The real issue is a whole different one. I ask again: is his memory as a husband worthy of your loyalty? Or, in other words, how good was your marriage?"

How good was my marriage? What kind of question was that?

"What's that got to do with anything? He was my husband, he has a right to my loyalty."

"Indeed. All husbands have a right to their wives' loyalty. They have other rights as well, don't they? Regardless of the little wife's wishes on the matter." Your voice had acquired a weird silkiness and I didn't like what you seemed to be implying.

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean."

"You understand perfectly what I mean!", you shouted, the storm finally erupting. "You know exactly what I'm talking about and you know I'm as right as I'll ever be. Actually, what I should have asked is how _bad_ was your marriage. Come on, Briseis, I'm not stupid. Do you think I didn't notice how you never, _ever_, mention your life with your husband? I listen to the stories you tell me, you know. So I couldn't help noticing that you didn't once, _not one single time_, recall any episode from the time you spent with him. You have fond memories of your childhood, but then you prefer to think of things that happen here, things from your life as a _captive_ in an _enemy camp_, to any memory from when you were a queen in your husband's house. I know why that is and so do you."

I struggled to find my voice.

"You don't know anything", I choked out at last. "It was not like that, not at all!"

"Wasn't it? Then pray tell me how it was. Did you have a great wedding night?"

"I'm not going to answer that! It's totally improper."

"Is it? Then maybe I'll just tell _you_ how it was, shall I?"

I rose to leave, furious: "You're tired. You've been injured in battle yesterday, then went through the stress of your man's trial and execution, then spent a sleepless night. That's the only reason I'll forgive you for this… this impudence!"

You rose as well, your movements catlike in their swiftness. If I didn't know better, I'd never guess you were still injured. You grabbed my arm, forced me to face you:

"Impudence? I'll tell you what's impudent: it's you denying a blatant truth. You were sold by your family to the highest bidder and then you were raped on a regular basis throughout the duration of your marriage. I know a great deal about arranged marriages between kings and unwilling young maidens. Do you want to know how? Because that was my parents' marriage as well."

There was a silence. You let go of my arm and turned your back on me. I took a hesitant step in your direction, but you raised a hand to stop me.

"The signs are all over you, Briseis, so yes, I know how your marriage was", you said, more gently now. "You'd been told that husbands had certain rights and that it was your duty to submit. So you did. If it hadn't been your husband, if it had been me doing it, for instance, you'd have called it rape and hated me for it, but since there had been a wedding ceremony… you just accepted it as inevitable and made a hell of an effort not to hate him. But you never wanted him, it was always a bit of a torment every time he came looking for you. You were probably even relieved whenever he took a new mistress and left you alone for a while."

"How do you kn…", I started, then stopped. You turned back to me, an utterly unexpected look of sympathy in your eyes.

"How do I know he had mistresses? I raided his palace, Briseis, I know what I found. Pretty young slaves, with rich clothes and sophisticated hair-dos, displaying all the arrogance of their master's favourites." After a short pause, you admitted in a very low voice: "I bedded a couple of them while we were there. They didn't object."

"Oh." I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know what impressed me the most: the uncanny lucidity of your insight into what my life with Mynes had been, the striking gentleness of tone that sought to take the sting off the harsh truths you were stating, or your strangely intimate confession in the end. Or maybe that phrase about your parents.

I went for the easiest option:

"You bedded Mynes' slaves?"

You shrugged, looking slightly sheepish: "Back then I wasn't expecting to get so close to you. They were there, they were available and… well, they had no worth as hostages and they were very keen to try and gain favour with their new masters."

I started laughing. I guess I was a little hysterical.

"Mynes would be royally pissed if he knew. They were his most treasured possessions. He spent fortunes with them, was always showing them off like freaking crown jewels." My stomach was beginning to hurt, but I just couldn't stop laughing. I was definitely hysterical. "I think he'd be more pissed because of them than because of me."

And then I started to cry. I dropped to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. It was your turn to take a step in my direction, my turn to raise a hand to stop you.

"Go away, please. I need to be alone."

You seemed hesitant: "Will you be alright? Maybe I should send Iphis over."

"No, I'm fine. I just have to… assimilate all this."

You were still doubtful. I looked up, past caring about my blotchy face and running nose.

"Look, you were right on target. Yes, my marriage was beyond bad and, yes, it's absurd to be talking about loyalty to the memory of a man I really only want to forget. But…"

But you had just ripped apart the tapestry of merciful illusions I had woven to cover up the ugly truth. All diamond-like hardness and cutting edges, you had cut to the bone of the bare facts I didn't want to confront. It was unbearably painful and I needed time to sort myself out.

But I didn't tell you any of that. Instead, I said simply: "I just need a bit to pull myself together. I'll be fine, honestly."

You hesitated a little longer, then nodded in acceptance. "Alright. But don't take too long, or I'll send the whole fucking army looking for you."

I looked on as you walked away across the sand, a bright diamond that shone all the colours of the sun's light into all the shades of blackness of the night.


	12. Chapter Eleven

addielady, Kara, Lauren, almythea – Thank you ever so much for your support. Feedback really is important. almythea, I hope you'll like this chapter better :)

To all those who favorited/are following – thank you, guys!

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Your bird returned. It must have already hunted and finished eating some place else – a nice touch, I really wouldn't enjoy having an eagle tearing away at its bloody prey on my windowsill. Now it's just perching there again, watching me with amber eyes that seem to glow as if they were lit from inside.

But it doesn't try to rush me. It knows I'll fly with it in when I'm ready.

o-o-o

Something had shifted between us. There was an undeniable awkwardness. I had gone back to trying to avoid you, or rather to avoid being alone with you, and you almost seemed to be helping me do it.

It's not easy to see our most painful secrets exposed by someone who wasn't even supposed to know them, let alone lay them all out in the open. I felt that I was uncomfortably transparent to you.

I had seen your bare body from the corner of my eye, you had exposed my bare soul head on. I would take a while to heal from the shock of it all.

But you didn't look quite at ease either. You seemed to be withdrawing into yourself, trying to regain some kind of control. For a man who avoided at all costs showing even a hint of vulnerability, you had opened windows into your own private story that you were now probably regretting.

Things had gotten much too deep much too fast, and I guess none of us knew how to go on from there.

Of course, Iphis sensed something was amiss, but I'd been evading her questions as best I could. To explain properly what was going on, I'd have to tell her about our argument on the beach and I didn't want to talk about my miserable marriage to Mynes with her or anyone else for the time being. Or maybe ever.

Oddly, I realized that if there was someone with whom I might be willing to talk about it, it would be you. Incongruent as that seemed, considering that you were a man and the topic was heavy with my own intimacy, I knew in my bones that I could trust you on that most personal of matters. You had shown sympathy, but not the slightest sign of pity. That was important to me. I had my own fair share of unyielding pride and I hated the idea that I might be pitied. I preferred your anger and the way you had begun by shouting the truth to my face, to a string of pats on the back and murmurs of "poor thing". Besides, my instincts told me that you could understand it on a level nobody else could: albeit indirectly, you knew the same pain. Not in your own body, but from the point of view of a child who'd seen it in his parents. It wasn't exactly the same, but the very anger that had seemed to be tearing you apart proved you had gone through a similar kind of suffering.

Yes, sooner or later I'd have to face the demons my forced marriage had unleashed in my soul and you'd be the confidant I'd ask to help me do it, but not just yet. I was still too raw to brave your diamond-hard edges.

It had been four days and your left arm was still impaired: you couldn't raise your shield and that meant that you were taking an imposed leave from fighting. Since you had to stay back, the Myrmidons didn't march either and, as a result, the whole Achaean army had been pretty much inactive. A few groups went out patrolling the plain around Troy every day, but there had been no real attacks on the city. Nothing could make the full extent to which the entire Greek army depended on you any clearer.

Of course, you were becoming uncontrollably restless. Inaction didn't suit you. Patroclus, who was acting as your physician, was having an increasingly hard time persuading you to stay put. That afternoon, you had taken to racing your chariot at full speed, much to the despair of your long-suffering friend. "The horses need the exercise", you claimed, turning a deaf ear on Patroclus' protests that he had been driving the horses every day and they were fine, unlike you, whose shoulder needed rest. "Rest!", he shouted at your retreating back, while you rolled away at full gallop in a cloud of dust.

But your restlessness and the absence of battles meant that there were no quiet late afternoons in your tent. And despite of the awkwardness that was making me flee from being alone with you, I was now beginning to miss those magically relaxed moments spent together.

Even the suppers had become different. There was enough light general conversation, but the verbal tug of war between the two of us had all but vanished. That was when I really felt that you were avoiding getting too close to me as much as I was avoiding getting too close to you.

And I missed that too. I missed you…

Iphis' cool hand set lightly on mine. "Come on", she said. "Your hair's almost as big a mess as the head it grows on. Let me help you wash it. I promise I'll pretend not to notice how your eyes are all watery for no apparent reason."

She was smiling kindly as ever and I squeezed her hand tight: "I'm sorry, friend. I don't want to shut you out, it's just that… it's complicated."

"It's alright. So long as you know I'll be here if you need me." She rolled her eyes. "Now stop getting all emotional on me! Girl, I can hardly recognize you anymore. Where's the woman who kept her head high and a stiff upper lip come what may? We're friends, being there for each other is what we do. I know you'll do the same for me when I need you." Shaking her head in mock despair, she pulled me behind her into the women's tent. "Let's just get your hair all silky and shiny, and make sure the noble prince of the Myrmidons has a dazzling beauty sitting at his table tonight. The immortals know you're in bad need of a little confidence boost, and as for him, if we don't do something fast he'll drive us all crazy."

"So now I'm just a pretty ornament to distract our stir-crazy prince?", I joked, undoing my braid. But I couldn't prevent a hint of bitterness from slipping into my voice.

Iphis gave me a stern slap on the wrist. "You're much more than just a pretty ornament and that's precisely why you're over half the reason our stir-crazy prince is more unbearable than ever right now."

I glared at her: "He's becoming impatient because he doesn't know how to deal with inaction. It's got nothing to do with me."

Iphis pushed my head back over the basin and poured warm water on my hair, then started working soap into my locks with nimble fingers.

"Inaction is making it worse, but his real problem are you, just as your real problem is him." She rinsed my hair, then picked up a jar of perfumed oil. "Look, I don't know what happened and, like I said, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But it's obvious that something did happen and the two of you are sort of groping in the dark for each other."

"How can you say that? He's been avoiding me."

"As much as you've been avoiding him, yes. But that doesn't mean you're not longing for each other. I mean, even now, you couldn't take your teary eyes off him. There, I just broke my promise to pretend not to notice! Sorry. Anyway, the same thing is going on the other way around. Maybe he's hardly spoken three words in a row to you the past few days, but he's gone back to having trouble sleeping." I looked up questioningly and Iphis explained, without slowing down the rhythmic passing of the comb through my hair to allow the oil to spread into every strand: "Achilles suffers from insomnia. I've always known him like that, but Patroclus says it started halfway through the third year of war. Anyway, last month he was doing better, but now it's gotten worse again." She put down the comb and poured another jar of warm water over my hair to wash off the oil. "Patroclus and I sleep in the main room of his hut, as you know, and we can hear him tossing and turning in bed for the better part of the night." She stuck a warning finger at me: "And don't tell me that's just the surplus energy from too much rest, because Patroclus says it isn't and he knows Achilles better than even Achilles knows himself."

She handed me a towel to dry my hair and went on: "Tonight we want to turn things into a little party. Patroclus is going to persuade Achilles to play for us. So please do me a favour: put a smile on those lips of yours and do your job as our hostess by helping us all to have a good time. It's not just because of Achilles and you. Things have been too sullen around here since the casualties in that ambush and the trial of the other man. It's about time we lighten up the mood."

When we walked into your tent for supper, I noticed that Iphis had been right and Patroclus was working you along the same lines she had been working me: there was a lyre sitting on the table. It was a wonderful instrument, inlaid with silver and with beautifully sculpted wooden parts. I had heard of your musical talent, but I had yet to hear you play.

You were looking wonderful as well, in an intricately embroidered chiton I had only seen folded in your chest. Apparently, you had finally gotten Patroclus to release you of the bandage around your shoulder and you seemed to be enjoying your newfound freedom of movement. You were smiling and chatting animatedly with your guests. The group was a little larger than usually: besides Patroclus, there were Phoenix, Eudorus, Automedon, Alcimedon, Antilocus, who had come to visit, and the son of Boras.

But the awkwardness was still there. I greeted you, flanked by my two faithful companions, and you responded with a small formal bow without looking me in the eye. Throughout supper, while everyone talked merrily with one another, you didn't exchange a single word with me. I was making a huge effort to keep my eyes from becoming all watery, as Iphis had put it, and to hold the smile on my lips.

When we finished eating, Patroclus pushed the lyre across the table to you. "It's been ages since we had a little music. We'd all love it if you'd play something for us, wouldn't we?" As he obviously expected, a chorus of approval rose in unison: "Yes, please Achilles, play us a song!" "Great idea, Achilles, go on please!" "Just one song, don't be a killjoy!" I wanted very much to hear you play and a few days before I'd have freely joined in with the inciting voices, as Iphis and Sophronia did, but not now, with this new awkwardness between us.

You picked up the lyre gingerly, your gestures hesitant as if you didn't know how to hold it. Then you looked up at me, straight in the eyes, and plucked a chord, then another.

It was a sad song. The saddest I had ever heard and yet the most beautiful in its sadness. The strings vibrated in sounds as pure as crystal, weaving into one another in a rich transparent tapestry of music. And then you started to sing. Your voice was deep and warm, both contrasting and blending perfectly with the clear sound of the lyre. But it was much more than just the beauty of the timber or the mastery of the technique. It was the soul. Unlike the blankness you kept using as a mask over your face, you sang with feeling. From the heart.

Where did that sensitivity come from? It was as if I had never really known you at all. I was mesmerized.

And so was everyone else in the room. When you finished your song, there was a spellbound silence, palpable like a physical presence, that no one dared break.

You smiled: "This wasn't probably the best choice for tonight. I'll do a more popular one."

You began playing again, this time an up-tempo tune that called to dancing. "If the ladies could clap the rhythm for me…", you suggested. Iphis and Sophronia complied at once. I stared into your eyes, that had landed on mine again, and a grin broke unbidden on my face. I stood up and started to dance.

It was a signal for everybody else to rise and begin dancing as well. When the song ended, you shoved the lyre into Phoenix's hands: "Take over for me, will you, father Phoenix? I'd like to spin around a little as well."

A different kind of awkwardness gripped my stomach like a vise when you stood in front of me and circled my waist with your arm. I lowered my eyes and we started whirling together to the rhythm of Phoenix's playing.

"So you're not angry with me anymore?", you asked into my hair.

I looked up in surprise:

"I was never angry with you."

"Weren't you? Well, you could have fooled me."

I thought about it for a moment. "There was anger, yes, but not at you", I said at last.

Your hand was warm on my waist.

"I should never have opened that Pandora's box the other day. I'm useless at those kinds of things. I lack tact. I should leave that sort of conversations for Patroclus. He's much better at it than me."

"You were good enough for me", I replied, feeling suddenly bold. "Besides, Patroclus wouldn't know what he was talking about, would he?"

The corners of your mouth arched in a thin-lipped smile: "No, he wouldn't."

I smiled back. Two broken smiles that added up to the complicity of a shared secret. There was a new light in the eyes of us both.

Then I realised Phoenix had finished his tune, but your hand was still resting warmly on my waist.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Lauren, ChrissyKat, almythea – Thank you all as ever for your reviews. I really treasure them.

Thanks to The First Blue for your words of encouragement as well.

As always, thank you also to those who faved and are following this story. And, of course, thank you to all my readers. I wouldn't be able to go on doing this without you.

CHAPTER TWELVE

It was a marvellous evening. We danced and sang – even I did, Apollo forgive me for the insult to his art! – we joked and ate and drank. Drinking is probably the operative word here: I don't think you'd have managed to talk me into performing that traditional song from Lyrnessus if I weren't already a little over my limit. The wine must have been stronger than usual that evening… or so I'd like to believe.

But more inebriating than any wine was the physical closeness to you when we danced. And dance we did, repeatedly, gladly, our feet so light it felt like we were gliding above the ground. Your arm was steady around my waist, your body was warm and firm, and I felt like leaning against it and just let you lead me where you would. When our eyes met, it was as though we had stepped into a bubble and were the only living souls left in the whole wide world. Sweet Aphrodite, halfway through every dance I imagined you were about to kiss me and I'd kiss you right back!

Then, of course, I'd slap myself mentally, break the eye contact and burst that bubble of togetherness before I lost myself forever in it. Because one thing that was becoming increasingly clear to me with every moment was that I was falling for you, fast, hard and irreversibly. And of the many dangerous things I could do as your captive, falling for you might well prove to be the most dangerous of all.

I could be a bit tipsy on the wine and downright drunk on you, but I was still clear-minded enough to realise the magnitude of the risk that implied. Objectively, you were a king and I was a slave. What future could a relationship between us possibly have? Your marriage, when the time came, would be a political matter, not an affair of the heart. And that was assuming I had any part of your heart at all, which was by no means a certainty. Yes, you had given me reason to believe that you cared for me, that you were probably more than a little infatuated with me. But caring and infatuation only go so far. They're not enough to forge a lifelong bond, particularly when that bond would pose a challenge to the established social order. That would be fine if all I felt for you was desire, but it would become a fatal trap if my feelings were deeper. I could not forget that although you had freely admitted to wanting me, you had never used the word love. I knew enough about life to know that what was left unsaid meant as much as what was put into words. Getting involved with you could very well become a one-way road at the end of which I would be left without even my self-respect.

But then we'd dance again and I'd find myself back in the bubble, gliding above the ground with you, intoxicated with the warmth of your body and the firmness of your arms, imagining kisses I rationally knew I should never experience…

When the guests filed out after bidding their farewells and thanking you for the wonderful evening, you turned to me and said: "It's a beautiful night. Are you too sleepy to go for a stroll?"

It was the wine, had to be the wine making me take leave of my senses, because I answered happily: "Not sleepy at all. Let's go." The words were barely out of my mouth and I was already wishing to hit myself: going for a stroll with you in the moonlight was definitely asking for trouble.

Sure enough, the trouble began as soon as we passed the rows of ships and stepped out onto the beach. You put your arm around me and I froze. You withdrew, looking a little hurt, then resumed walking.

"Are you afraid of men, Briseis?", you asked suddenly.

I pondered the question. "I don't think so", I said at last. "I'm afraid of you, though."

You stopped on your tracks, flabbergasted. "Afraid of me? Why on earth? I'm pretty sure I never gave you any reason to fear me in any way."

I shook my head. "Not in that sense, no. It's just…" My voice trailed off.

"Just what?", you pressed, sounding rather put off.

"What exactly do you feel for me, Achilles? I mean, I know you want me, you made no secret whatsoever in that respect. But then what? What am I to become when your desire's sated?"

You stared at me in obvious disbelief. But the turmoil in my brain, perhaps amplified by that evening's wine and the giddiness of dancing with you, had erupted into a volcano that would not be stopped. I went on:

"You're a predator. That's so obvious even a blind can see it. Your seemingly lasting interest in me is probably just a product of the fact that I originally rejected you. That taunted the predator in you and from then on you focused on the chase. But what will happen once you get your prey?"

Your face became suddenly inscrutable again. "Is that what you think this is? A mere chase?"

"I don't know what this is! That's exactly the problem. You seem to be able to see right through me, you figured out my whole life just by hearing the stories I told you, but you remain completely impenetrable to me. That inscrutable face of yours is maddening! When I think about it, I realise I know next to nothing about you and your life, except for what tiny morsels you see fit to share with me." I paused, breathing hard. "Your son, for instance. You told me you weren't married and joked that it's not necessary for people to be married to have children. Fine. But I know the boy is your heir, with full firstborn rights. That means he has legitimate status. That could be achieved simply by a public acknowledgment from you that the kid was yours, but somehow I have trouble believing you'd get a princess pregnant and then dump her without further consideration. There must have been some kind of agreement, some bond. What do you plan to do when you go back home, Achilles? You're a prince, I'm a war captive. What place will I have in your life when the war is over? Am I to become a forgotten lover, forced to serve your free, royal-born wife as a slave in your house?"

You whipped around to face me, your eyes like burning coals, your features chalk white, and I realised I had never seen you truly furious before. I stepped back instinctively.

"Is that what you think of me? That I would do that to a woman I had loved?" There it was, the word love, but spit out in rage, almost like an insult, not spoken the way I'd have wished for, not meaning what I would have liked to hear in it. "What kind of man do you take me for?"

You were shaking in anger, but so was I.

"My life is in your hands already", I shouted back, unrestrained. "If I give you my heart, you'll have all of me and I'll still have nothing of you except for some unclear feelings and your alleged moral compass. I'll depend entirely on your ethical sense not to end up broken and abandoned, with no hope and no future. Would you take that kind of risk on someone else?"

"Life is a risk! Future is the definition of unknown! You ask what my plans are. They're non-existing. I make no plans. I don't know whether there will be a future for me at all. For all I know, tomorrow may be my dying day." Time froze for a moment. I stared at you, wide-eyed in the shock of revelation, you stared blankly back. "So, if what you want from me are promises and guarantees, forget it. I'm not giving you either. I can only give you my present and that I already gave, without asking you for anything in return. Taking a risk on someone else! What the fuck do you think I've been doing with you for the last couple of months? And believe me, two months is a very long time for a man who doesn't know if he'll live to try again another day."

I opened my mouth to speak, but you were on a roll. "Fuck, Briseis! There is only one thing you can take for granted and you should know that by now without needing me to say it: I will not harm you in any way. I would never crush you the way you suggested, I would never use and discard you like an old tunic. I would never insult you, or my supposed wife, by having a former lover serve in my household like a common slave. That is… I never expected something like that from you." You started walking again, away from me, in wide, angry strides. I ran to catch up with you.

"I didn't really think you would do that deliberately. But it could happen, it could…"

"No, it couldn't. If I make it and take you back home with me, it's because I'll be sticking with you for the long run. If you don't want to go, I won't drag you kicking and screaming; you'll be free. If I don't make it, you'll be likewise free. I've already arranged that with Patroclus. He's my plan for the future, the only one I have." I looked up at you questioningly. You explained, your voice still cold and hard as iron: "If I die, he'll take over for me. He'll go get my son and bring him to Phtia, oversee his education and make sure the boy receives his inheritance. He'll help my father and protect his old age. And he'll act as a foster brother to you, take you in as his sister and help you sort out your life as you see fit. It's all been set between me and him."

I was choking with the conflicting emotions raging inside me, but I managed to ask:

"What if you make it, but just get tired of me?"

You turned again to look me straight in the eyes:

"What if it's you who gets tired of me?"

"That's not the way it works. You know it isn't."

"Isn't it? Don't women get tired of their men? Then why did Helen abandon her husband and daughter to elope with Paris? Why are the wives of many of my fellow kings having very public affairs with other men back home?" You must have noticed my look of surprise, because you elaborated: "News travel far on merchant ships. Much of it is just gossip, granted, but some of it has the unmistakable taste of truth. Many of my allies won't have a kingdom to go back to. This war has been lasting too long. Feelings fade and change, yes, and it's not just the men's. Women's feelings change as well."

You looked out at the sea. "You asked about Deidamia. My son's mother. Yes, there was a bond. A betrothal. I didn't do it just in order to legitimate the boy, I did it sincerely, because I was in love with her at the time. But I was fourteen and she wasn't much older than me. I went back to Phtia to prepare for the war and then I came here. Five years later, that's two years ago, we were raiding the isles in the area, so I decided to sail over to Skyrus to meet my son. I had only seen him as a newborn and I wanted to at least know his face and have him know mine." Your voice softened. "He looks like a miniature version of me." There was a short pause, then the dreamy smile disappeared from your lips and you went on: "I saw Deidamia as well, of course. We had nothing left in common, except for the child. I used to be a boy when we were together, but in the meantime I had become a man, she used to be a girl but had become a woman. We had grown separately, in different directions, and neither of us felt anything whatsoever for the other. There was a kind of tenderness for old times' sake, but that was all. It might have been different if we had stayed together, if we had grown side by side, but it just didn't happen that way."

You turned back to me. "You say I see through you while remaining impenetrable to your eyes. I don't see through you, I just pay attention to what you say. A lot of attention. I'm not a man of words, Briseis, so don't expect a lot of those from me under normal circumstances. But if you paid just a bit of attention to what I do, you'd know not to think me capable of doing the kind of things you suggested. And you wouldn't need to be wondering about the exact nature of my feelings for you either."

I was completely sober by then. Sober, shaken and feeling terrible. I stepped up to you, but you placed a hand on my shoulder and held me literally at arm's length.

"No. I don't want you to have me out of sympathy, because it just dawned on you that I may not last long. I don't want you to have me as a favour, while struggling with anguish and doubt. I don't take that kind of favours. I don't want you to have me out of gratitude either. I want you to have me because you want me as much as I want you, or not at all. You have all the time in the world, Briseis." You dropped your hand and turned on your heel. "Come, I'll walk you back to the women's hut."

You led the way between the ships, your steps silent and elastic, your back straight and your head held high. Proud, untamed, untameable. Unyielding. A rather-break-than-bend, all-or-nothing kind of guy.

I wanted you alright. As much as you wanted me, maybe even more. But I'd have to want you enough to take you the way you were – and that would not be easy. You would never be easy.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Modern Kassandra, Alexandra Maddox, Chrissykat, ParfaitCherie, The First Blue – thank you all!

I'm sorry I'm taking so long to update now, but the workload is definitely catching up with me. Hopefully next month will be a little less stressful.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The next couple of days you hardly spoke to me at all. As Iphis once said, it was highly unwise to do or say anything you might perceive as an insult and you had felt insulted by my suggestion that you might subject me to becoming your hypothetical wife's slave. Now you were letting me know exactly how offended you were.

Your aloofness affected me more than I'd care to admit, but it also gave me a much needed pause for a little introspection.

I had to figure out how deep my feelings for you really ran, to ponder – soberly! – the true implications of a relationship with you and, perhaps more importantly than all of that, to try to understand the changes I had undergone since the war had turned my life upside down.

Because I knew I had changed, in some respects almost beyond recognition. The very passion I was developing for you was not only a big part of those changes, but also a sign of how deep they were.

Who was I, Hippodameia, known as Briseis, daughter of Briseus? An eighteen year old widow, born into the aristocracy of Lyrnessus, former wife of a king, current war captive and slave, maybe future mistress to my master and prince. How many different things to be in such a short life! It was no wonder I felt lost.

And what exactly were you to me, Achilles, son of Peleus? Where was this unlikely passion of mine for you coming from?

Perhaps the best way to begin searching for answers to those questions would be by looking back, by finding the girl I used to be before my captivity or even before my marriage. And then maybe try to figure what you would have meant to me if I had met you under different circumstances. In my father's house, perhaps, before I was given to Mynes… would I have loved you? Would I have fought my family's wishes, resisted Mynes' proposal and taken off with you with or without my parents' blessing? Or would I never see beyond your obvious pride and volatile temper, never get a chance to discover the more caring and human side of you?

Hence I went back to the tapestry I had all but abandoned in the past few days. It was an attempt at recreating the landscape of Lyrnessus and it would provide a good starting point for my quest in search of my old self.

I peered at the loom, brow furrowed. There was something off in my design. I scanned the half-made tapestry, narrowing my eyes. The curve of the city wall was correct, the outline of the citadel emerging above it with the palace and the temples looked right as well. Then what was the problem?

"Hum-hum." A woman was peeking through the door, holding something wrapped in a white cloth. It was one of the girls who had been so venomous on the way to the cistern nearly two months ago, the one who had accused me of acting "high and mighty". I had been rather cold to the servants from that day on, keeping my distance and probably justifying their view of me as arrogant. I didn't care. Those women had insulted me and I wouldn't stand for it. In the meantime, they had made a couple of attempts to soothe me, but I hadn't paid them any heed. It would take more than a half-hearted effort to patch things up. Only an explicit apology would suffice.

I pressed my lips together tightly. That was not the moment to delve on certain similarities in the way some people reacted to perceived insults…

I nodded curtly at the girl. She walked in and held the package out to me.

"We been bakin'", she said, "an' I made olive oil bread the way we used to do in my village. I figured maybe you'd like to try it."

It was another one of those half-hearted attempts. I took the wrapped loaf from her coldly, broke a piece and tasted it.

"It's good", I said. "It can be brought to the prince's table tonight."

"You was right to be angry the other day", she said abruptly, without taking the loaf I was handing back to her. "We was talkin' rubbish. You was sufferin', same as all of us. Is jus'… it 'urts a bit, you know, to see that them differences that was when we was free are jus' the same now we're all slaves."

I looked at her, surprised at her honesty. She was short but sturdy, her arms thick and strong, her skin permanently tanned from working on the fields, out in the sun.

"I understand", I replied slowly. "It's true, that doesn't seem fair. Maybe it already wasn't fair before, but it becomes worse when we all share a common misfortune." I paused. Her words were an apology, even if not entirely explicit. And she did have a point in her complaint. I softened my tone. "We must learn how to stand together and help one another, instead of clinging to what divides us."

"Yeah. Anyway, you was right on somethin' else too: the likes of us couldn' run a king's 'ouse the way you do. We wouldn' know where to begin." She smiled suddenly and my jaw nearly dropped in surprise. The smile transformed her, made her look young and fresh, even pretty. "I didn't even know what bed sheets was before I came 'ere. The first time I seen them prince's sheets in the laundry baskets, I asked another girl if those big white cloths was sails for small boats."

I laughed along with her. Then I broke two more pieces of bread, put one in my mouth and handed her the other one.

"This is really a specialty. From your village, you said?"

She nodded, chewing the bread. I went on:

"Where was it?"

"Across the plain from 'ere, up north", she said, then shrugged. "It was nice, but I don' like to think about it much. I miss bein' out in the fields, though. 'ere's jus' sea all 'round, 'xcept for this spit of land that's too narrow to be good for anythin'."

"Why don't you like to think much about your home village?" I asked, genuinely curious.

She shrugged again.

"Is best not to 'ang on to the past too much. The ones that do, end up walkin' into the sea." She paused, then added: "Besides, when I try to remember my village, I always see it wrecked, with the burnt 'ouses and pillaged fields, not as it used to be before. An' I don' like to think about it that way."

I stared at her wordlessly for a moment, then turned to my tapestry. Yes, that was exactly the problem: the design was perfect to the last stitch, but in my mind's eye, that same landscape was now forever clouded in black pillars of smoke that rose from a long line of pyres stretching before the city's walls. I was drawing Lyrnessus as it used to be, but what I remembered was Lyrnessus as it had become.

I looked back at the girl. She might be uneducated and blunt, overall rough around the edges, but she was not dumb. She had put her finger right on the answer that was eluding me.

"You're absolutely right", I said, admiration evident in my voice. She smiled again.

"That your city?", she asked, gesturing at the loom.

"Yes, but it's just as you say. I kept feeling there was something off in it. Now I know what it is." Then I frowned. "What do you mean, when you say that the people who hang on too much to the past end up walking into the sea?"

"Well, you know, they get stuck in it an' don' find the strength to start again."

"But what does 'walking into the sea' have to do with it?"

"They get so broken they don' wanna live anymore. So they walk into the sea an' don' come back."

"Oh. I see." I shuddered. The girl peered at me.

"You ain't like that. You got the will. You'll start all over again an' you'll be alright." A dreamy look spread over her hard features, softening them. "W'o knows, you may still get back some o' what you 'ad before. Maybe I'll 'ave me own fields again one day."

"You hope to be freed when the war is over? And go back home?"

She shook her head. "No, none of us are gonna be freed like that. An' even if I am, I don' 'ave a 'ome to go back to. Nor am I the same as I used to be. Whatever folk I 'ave left won't even know me an' I won't know them. Jus' like the village an' the fields. Nothin' will be the same ever again. No, I'm 'opin' for other fields, across the sea. Where these men come from."

I raised my brows questioningly. She seemed a little embarrassed.

"There's a guy, see. 'e likes me an' I like 'im. 'e's a warrior for the prince, but 'e used to be a farmer. We started talkin' because of that. We both miss sowin' an' plantin', an' seein' our crops grow. 'e says 'e's gonna ask the prince for me when the war is over."

"And then he'll take you home with him?"

"Yeah. We'll be married an' raise a family an' tend the fields, an' never speak of war again. 'e says I'm right for 'im, so 'e don' care where I come from and that I been a captive 'ere."

"He says you're right for him. Is he right for you as well?"

"Oh, 'e is, yeah. Jus' right. 'e's a good man, sound as rich soil." She smiled again. "'e's been fightin' 'ard and doin' everythin' 'e can to show 'e's brave, so as to cause a good impression to the prince. That way when 'e asks for me, the prince will say yes."

"Why doesn't he ask for you now? Why wait for the end of the war?"

"'e says I'm safer 'ere in the prince's 'ouse. See, if somethin' would 'appen to 'im, the gods forbid, I'd 'ave nobody to protect me. I'd become fair game for the other men. This way, there ain't no one that dares to touch me."

"I see. Well, that seems to show that he really cares for you. If he didn't, he wouldn't be taking precautions to insure your safety."

She nodded solemnly.

"Yeah, that's what I reckoned too. I mean, we're not really _waitin'_, but…" She stopped, her whole face deeply worried all of a sudden. "Please don' say anythin' about it to the prince. 'e's terrible when 'e's angry."

I shook my head, trying to conceal an amused smile.

"I won't say anything, I promise."

She seemed momentarily relieved, then frowned:

"Is not that I'm easy. Is jus' that I figured if somethin' bad 'appens, at least I'll 'ave memories of my time with 'im. I won't 'ave wasted my chance of bein' 'appy, even if only for a bit." She lowered her eyes in unexpected shyness. "Anyway", she went on after a pause, "the reason I mentioned it is that we all 'ave someone we're right for and that's right for us. An' when we find that person, it don' really matter much where we come from or where we're at. I know for you royal folk it ain't so simple, there's all that dowry stuff an' lineage an' alliances an' things that must fit, but I think you're right for the prince an' the prince is right for you, so, I dunno, maybe you won't manage to become queen again, but maybe you'll find some 'appiness anyway."

I stared at her in silence for a while. Then, on an impulse, I stood up and hugged her. "You're a good woman. Thank you for the bread and the good wishes. I hope you'll get everything you want with your man."

She hugged me back tentatively.

"You're not 'alf bad either. I'm really sorry for the other day. Is not jus' me, most o' the girls 'ave been feelin' bad about it. We know you wasn't really playin' games, you was jus' tryin' to find your footin' 'ere, same as we all 'ad to do."

When she left, I sat back at my loom and started to undo the tapestry. I wouldn't deny the past, I would never forget it. I wouldn't be able to, even if I wanted. It was part of me, both the good and the bad in it. But that girl, with her pragmatic perspective on life, was absolutely right. The Lyrnessus I had known in my youth no longer existed. The Briseis I had been no longer existed either. Even before the war, life had changed me: the naïve girl in my parents' house had disappeared a long time ago to become Mynes' unhappy wife. That wife had experienced war, was widowed and then evolved into a different young woman in yet different circumstances. It was pointless to try to imagine what the old Briseis would have felt for you. Without the war, even you would not be the same person I knew; you'd be someone else entirely. Perhaps a man who still loved Deidamia and whom Deidamia still loved.

Speculating over what-ifs served no purpose because I was not living a hypothesis, I was living the reality of here and now. And in that reality, the real me as I now was had fallen in love with the real you as you now were.

The past was made of experiences that had shaped me, of memories that were shaping me still. But it did not hold the answer. In the past, I had thought I knew what my future would be. The present showed how wrong that notion had been. As you had said, future is the definition of unknown. There were no answers except for the ever-changing nature of life itself.

I wouldn't walk into the sea, as that girl had put it – helping me understand the reason why you had been so worried when I had demanded you leave me alone sobbing on the beach. I wouldn't hold on to the past to the point where it would break me. Nor would I allow concerns over the possibility of pain in the future to impair my chances to experience happiness now. I was not reckless, I probably never would be, but I would not let myself be paralyzed either.

I knew I loved you. I also knew I trusted you – like that girl's man, you had taken precautions to insure my safety in case something happened to you.

The real question that needed answering was the one I had asked myself after our argument two nights ago: did I want you enough to take you the way you were? The answer, it seemed, was yes.

You might be difficult, even challengingly so, but you were worth it.


End file.
